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* 








ft BLONDE CREOLE. 


* 

A Story of New Orleans. 


8 

BY ALICE HOWARD HILTON. 


THE PEERLESS SERIES, No. 64. Issued Monthly. October, 1892. $3 per year. Entered at 
New York Post-Office as second-class matter. Copyright, 1892, by Alice H. Hilton. 





~x. 



lo'tjitW 


New York: 


J. S. OGILVIE, PUBLISHER, 

57 ROSE STREET, 



TO THE LOVING MEMORY 
OF MY HUSBAND 

the Reverend Charles W. Hilton 

WHOSE WHOLE LIFE WAS A BEAUTIFUL SERMON 
THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED BY 


THE AUTHOR 





. 






















































































































































. 

















































CONTENTS. 


Chapter page 

I. THE CONVENT SCHOOL 9 

II. THE DEBUTANTE 18 

III. “I LOVE YOU, LUCIA.” 25 

IV. “I CANNOT MARRY AN OCTOROON.” . . 31 

V. “YOU PROMISED TO MARRY ME.” ... 35 

VI. THE STORM 42 

VII. MEG MERRILIES 49 

VIII. BURYING THE TRADITIONAL HATCHET . 54 

IX. ALINE’S LETTER TO LUCIA 60 

X. REJECTED AND SCORNED 66 

XI. CAST ADRIFT 75 

XII. CAUGHT ON THE REBOUND 83 

XIII. IN THE STREET 89 

I XIV. ASKING THE DOCTOR’S CONSENT ... 97 

XV. “I LOVE NO ONE BETTER.” 103 

XVI. THE WEDDING TOUR 110 

XVII. “YOU ARE NOT HIS WIFE.” 116 

XVIII. AS ONE WITHOUT HOPE 124 

XIX. A CONFESSION MADE TOO LATE .... 132 

XX. THE CONFESSION CONTINUED .... 140 

XXI. “WE WILL WAIT.” • . 149 


( 5 ) 


6 


CONTENTS 


BOOK II. 


Chapter Page 

I. WEARIED AND FOOTSORE 163 

II. “DON’T REPROACH ME VIVA.” . ... 172 

III. THE ACTRESS’S CHILD • . 178 

iv. ’twixt love and duty 184 

V. IN TIGHTS * 190 

VI. A DESOLATE HOME 200 

VII. A LIVING SORROW 207 

VIII. 44 YES, I HAVE BEEN MARRIED.” . . . 209 

IX. “A FELLOW FEELING MAKES US WON- 
DROUS KIND.” 215 

X. LUCIA HAS A VISITOR 221 

XI. AT THE THEATRE 227 

XII. TEARS OF JOY 231 

XIII. THE DAWN OF A NEW LOVE .... 236 

XIV. MURDER AND SUICIDE 242 

XV. 44 I HAVE LOST A DEAR FRIEND.” . . . 250 

XVI. A GLEAM OF HOPE 259 

XVII. JOY AFTER SORROW 263 

XVIII. WELCOME FOOTSTEPS 265 

XIX. AN IMPORTANT LETTER 269 


PROLOGUE. 


Lucia Corletti — the heroine of these pages, 
was the granddaughter of a beautiful American blonde, 
who gave her money in exchange for the coronet of 
Count Martini. For a few years they lived happily 
in their little palace at Naples: but at the birth of 
their first child the Countess died, leaving the mother- 
less little Paola to the affection of her father the 
Count, and the loving care of her maid, Maria. When 
the little Paola was seventeen years old, she took it 
into her romantic blonde head to fall in love with 
handsome Marco Corletti, the tenor of “ San Fran- 
cesco di Paolo,” the Cathedral at which she offered her 
daily devotions. 

Together they eloped to Florence, where they were 
married ; and in which city Marco received an ugly 
wound from the stiletto of a jealous rival — The Mar- 
chese Duotorri, which nearly cost him his life. 

As soon as the young husband was sufficiently strong 
to travel, they took passage to Havre, thence to New 
Orleans, where Lucia, our heroine, was born. The 
climate did not suit the delicate constitution of the 
fair , Italian, and when the little girl was three years 
old, Paola yielded up her gentle life, leaving the little 
Lucia to her father and the faithful old nurse who had 
been a mother to her (Paola) and who had left her 
pleasure -loving, sunny Italy to share the fortunes of 
her young mistress and fosterchild in the new country. 

a> 


8 


PROLOGUE. 


Iii the ever memorable year, 1878, when that most to 
be dreaded scourge, yellow fever, devastated so many 
hearts and homes in unhappy New Orleans, both 
Marco Corletti and the faithful Maria were victims to 
the epidemic. They died and were buried on the 
same day. 

Doctor Orlando and his good wife, whose families 
had been representatives of the Creole community in 
Louisiana for many generations, legally adopted the 
little orphan Lucia — who was already their godchild — 
and took her to their happy home. 

I find a common impression exists — that the creole is 
not a purely white people, but a mixture of the white 
and negro races. This is a great mistake. Creoles, 
are those born in Louisiana, of foreign parentage — 
Spanish, Italian, or French. 

Since the civil war in the States, their number has 
materially decreased. They are less clannish, and more 
frequently inter-marry with Americans, and now feel 
it a necessity to learn the English language, of which 
whole cummunities were previously unable to speak 
one word. Even cases in the civil courts at New 
Orleans, before the war, were tried in the French 
language. 

The prelude to this story, containing many bits of 
local coloring, and the description of a creole funeral, 
is told in one volume called “Paola Corletti, the Fair 
Italian.” 


Author. 


A BLONDE CREOLE 


BOOK FIRST. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE CONVENT SCHOOL. 

The autumn had come again. Another year had 
been recorded on the calendar which vigorously marks 
the time never to be recalled. Another year and the 
orphaned Lucia was entering another home. But this 
was to prove a more permanent one than the comfort- 
able and luxurious home of Dr. Orlando, but not a less 
kindly one. 

Lucia was now eight years old ; so the Doctor and 
his good wife, who had been appointed her legal guard- 
ians, by the city of New Orleans, had decided that she 
must be placed at school where her education would be 
conducted in a less perfunctory manner than it was 
then. 

Besides, Madame Orlando was growing old, and 
found the care of a young motherless girl too full of re- 
sponsibilities to be borne lightly. So together they 
decided to place her with the good pious Sister Mary 
Augustine, the Mother Superior of the Convent school 
at Donaldson ville, on the Mississippi river. 

Madame Orlando herself had received a convent edu- 
cation, and her own daughter, Natalie, had gotten 

( 9 ) 


10 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


all her knowledge within these very walls. And 
so she knew that she was placing her ward in 
faithful hands, when she left her with this good Sister, 
who had been more than thirty years in the convent. 
She was quite a bit of history to the people in the 
town and neighborhood, who knew the sight of her 
stiff white bonnet and grey cloth dress so well. After 
her duties in the school room were over, the little 
slender religeuse might be seen trudging along the 
muddy road with a pitcher of hot soup for some 
poor pensioner, or a branch of juicy ripe oranges fresh 
cut from the trees planted by her own hands in the 
convent garden. 

Many blessed her as she tripped along in her heelless 
shoes as lightly as a girl, always smiling and happy ; 
not making one feel, “ how miserable it must be to live 
a strictly pious life ” as some are disposed to think 
when looking at the faces of many of these good sis- 
ters. 

There were but few resident scholars in the convent 
that term ; in fact there never were many. The school 
depended for support chiefly on the children of the 
town, who were only day scholars. Thus lessons be- 
ing over, there were not more than half a dozen girls 
of all ages, from six to sixteen to welcome, that is to 
say, to gaze a tour poor little orphan as she came with 
her guardian up the azalia bordered path from the 
gate, to the long shallow gallery, running all across the 
wide two storied old frame building. 

The house had not been built for a convent, but had 
been the family residence when this property was a 
sugar plantation, before the shabby little town of Don- 
aldsonville had been anything more than a steamboat 
landing — a point from which the newly made sugar 


THE CONVENT SCHOOL. 


11 


was shipped. It did not look in the least like a con- 
vent, with its many detached buildings and fine old 
orange and mulberry trees affording shade everywhere, 
unless indeed, the small wooden cross on the top of the 
latticed, green painted gate in front suggested the idea. 

Madame Orlando thought, “ how divinely quiet and 
serene this old wooden building looks nestling in its 
bed of fine tall trees and gaily blooming flowers,” as 
she and the little girl passed up the walk, almost long 
enough to be called an avenue, that beautiful Octo- 
ber afternoon, with the sun sinking so slowly to rest 
on his cloud pillow of crimson and gold. There was a 
delicious breath of early autumn scents wafted from the 
aromatic trees all around. And the birds, bright blue 
jays, and brilliant redbreasts, were carrolling lustily 
from twigs and boughs innumerable, their good-night 
songs. “ It is a paradise ! What a blessing it must be 
to live here on such a day, feeling the world and its 
cares safely shut out. No serpent can enter here, 
surely. But then, there is no need for a serpent 
where there is no Adam,” thought Madame Orlando as 
she slowly approached the Convent. 

Sister Mary Augustine had heard the boat whistle 
for the landing a short time previous, and w r ith dear 
fragile Sister Clotilde on one side of her, and some of 
the boarding scholars behind her, stood on the lower 
veranda awaiting her visitors. 

She came forward and affectionately kissed Madame 
Orlando, then took the hand of little Lucia in her own, 
and, with a kiss of welcome, led her guests into the pain- 
fully clean, poorly furnished parlor. 

The old lady only remained about an hour at the 
convent, then entered the carriage which had come for 
her, and went to spend the night with her sister who 


12 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


lived on one of the plantations a short distance down 
the Bayou. 

After she had gone, and the latticed-gate had shut 
out the last sight of her, Lucia felt that she had now 
not one friend to turn to in her loneliness, and burst 
into tears. 

Madame, too, had been very much affected at the 
parting ; for during the year that Lucia had been with 
her, she had learned to love the gentle bright little 
girl very dearly and really looked upon her as her 
own. 

Sister Clotilde who looked herself like a girl — and in 
point of years she was not more — took the little orphan 
by the hand, and led her into the garden, showed her 
the birds’ nests in the shrubbery, and the shrine of the 
Blessed Virgin, with a robe of painted blue, that stood 
in a little arbor, covered all over with creepers ; she 
told Lucia that the pupils said their Angelus here. She 
made her acquainted with some little girls nearly her 
own age. Then they all went in to their simple 
supper. 

Next morning Luica was awakened by the loud 
clanging of a bell which seemed just outside her win- 
dow, and lifted her little curly head from the pillow 
just in time to see the other girls scrambling out of bed, 
and preparing to dress. As she did not move, or know 
exactly what to do, and was wondering if she too must 
get up, a tall blue-eyed girl came to the side of her cot 
and said : u That is the dressing bell, Lucia, if you 
don’t get up quickly you will not be dressed in time 
for prayers.” 

She slid out of bed, sat down on the little strip of 
carpet at her feet, and put on her stockings and shoes. 
She then dressed herself as well as she could alone, and 


THE CONVENT SCHOOL. 13 

Washed her face. But what to do with her hair, for the 
life of her she did not know. When she put the comb 
through it, and drew it out at the ends, the curls all 
sprang back in a fluffy mass again. She was ready to 
cry with vexation, thinking she would never be down 
in time, when a happy thought came to her, and acting 
upon it, she drenched her head in the basin of cold 
water, and then with her hands smoothed down, and 
patted the refractory locks upon her plump little cheeks. 
There were no mirrors in the lavatory nor in the dor- 
mitory to reflect back this dripping little mermaid — and 
feeling that she had overcome a great difficulty, de- 
scended to the lower room where prayers were read by 
the Sister Superior. 

The other girls were already seated on benches 
with their hands folded in their laps, waiting for the 
Sister to begin. They looked up at Lucia as she en- 
tered, and a smile stole out of their eyes and played 
about the corners of their mouths. One little urchin 
more frivolous than the others almost broke out into 
loud laughter, but managed to suppress it to an audible 
titter. Poor Lucia ! She knew it was at her they were 
laughing, but could not imagine what particular thing 
about her caused so much amusement. 

The Superior pointed her to a seat next to the chair 
of Sister Clotilde, and when she was seated a little bell 
was rung and they all dropped upon their knees, and 
remained so until the devotions were ended. Then a 
tall sister took a seat at the harmonium and after play- 
ing over a prelude, scholars and all joined in singing 
the morning hymn, and then went in to breakfast. 

After the meal, when she was leaving the room, the 
little urchin who had so nearly broken out laughing 
during prayer-time, pushed up to the side of the child, 


14 


A BLOHDE CBEOLE. 


and in passing managed to whisper, “who combed your 
hair so prettily ? ” 

“ I did, ” answered Lucia, nothing daunted, putting 
her hands to her still dripping locks, which were strag- 
gling and sticking together all around her face like 
hydra heads. 

When they were in the hall, and she wondering where 
she should go, and feeling very much injured at the fun 
the other child had made of her hair, the big girl of 
the school — the one who had told her to hasten out of 
bed— came to her and said, “ Come up-stairs with me a 
minute Lucia, E want you,” and led the way into the 
lavatory. Hastily seizing a comb she said, u now let 
me curl your pretty hair. I suppose you cannot do it 
yourself.” 

“No,” answered Lucia, “ I have never tried in my 
life, before this morning, and I don’t know what to do. 
I suppose my hair will now have to be cut off, but 1 
hope not, for papa would not have liked it, for he was 
very fond of my curls, and said they were just like mam- 
ma’s when it was let down, only mine are a little darker.” 

“ I believe you have neither mother nor father, at 
least I think Sister Mary Augustine said so,” remarked 
the elder girl, who told Lucia she must call her “Viva 
— that Viva Agnew was her name.” 

“ No,” said Lucia, “ I have neither father nor mother. 
I don’t think I remember my mother, but my father 
and kind old foster-mother, both died last year of the 
yellow fever,” and the soft brown eyes — eyes which 
were growing so much like the pretty mother’s whom 
she could not remember — filled with tears. 

“ I have no mother either,” answered Viva, “ but I 
have the dearest old dad in the world, and you may see 
him soon, for he is Captain of the 1 America ’ and passes 


CCWfENT SCHOOL, 


15 


Iiefe every week on his way to and from New Orleans, 
They always blow the whistle when the boat is opposite 
the town, and then I run out on the upper gallery and 
see the boat going round the bend of the river over the 
tops of the low houses opposite. If the i America ’ has 
any freight for Donaldsonville, then papa runs up here 
to see me while they are getting it off. There your 
hair is done now, and we must go down; the bell will 
ring soon for lessons. Next time I shall make it look 
better. But tell me, Lucia, how comes it that you are 
a creole and have such golden hair and fair complex- 
ion ? ” 

“I get my coloring from my grandmamma who was 
an American, and not Italian as my parents were,” said 
the child simply. 

“ Oh ! ” answered the elder girl, quite satisfied with 
the information, as though the simple statement was a 
fact far beyond any point of dispute. 

This conversation was carried on in French — or 
the creole patois called French — the language of the 
school. 

The bell outside the house rang almost immediately 
after they got down-stairs, and as Lucia was entering 
the schoolroom, she saw the child who had laughed at 
the combing of her hair, taking a seat at a desk. Elise 
— for that was her name — looked up at this moment, 
prepared to laugh again, but when she saw the beauti- 
ful hair hanging over the new scholar’s shoulders in 
smooth golden curls, the laugh died on her lips, and 
she only opened her round eyes wide in astonishment. 

Elise was a canny looking child, -of about ten years. 
Her complexion was pale but not sallow; she had large 
merry eyes of almost any color, and black hair which 
would rather break than bend, combed straight away 


16 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


from her large forehead and held in place by a band 
comb. 

She was not a bad child, only a very merry one, and 
if there was any mischief going on in school, it was 
quite safe to count on Elise as ringleader, or prime 
mover in it. She laughed at everything; even the 
punishment inflicted upon her almost daily, for her 
want of attention and carelessness. 

That same evening after prayers while they were 
bidding the sisters good-night, Viva asked the Mother 
Superior if she might not comb Lucia’s hair every morn- 
ing, as the child could not do it herself. The Sister did 
not think it wise to consent to this arrangement, but 
disliked very much to put the scissors into such beautiful 
hair, thinking stealthily of her own long, heavy braids 
cut from her head when she “married the church” at 
Fredericksburg so many years before, but Viva pleaded 
so hard, promising to rise half an hour earlier every 
morning in order to accomplish this pleasant task, that 
the sister allowed her to do so for a week, to see how 
the self-imposed task would be carried through. But 
at the end of the week Lucia and Viva were such fast 
friends, that the latter would have done everything for 
the beautiful child, had she been permitted. 

As Lucia had a friend and champion in the biggest 
girl, and oldest scholar in the school, she was safe from 
many of those disagreeable, practical jokes, and terrible 
ordeals which girls, as well as boys, are subjected 
to on first entering a boarding-school, whether con- 
vent or college. 

Viva was only fifteen years old, but very tall for 
her age. She grew so fast that it seemed her sleeves 
and skirts could not keep pace with her arms and legs, 
for they were always thrust two or three inches beyond 


3?HE COttVLNT SCHOOL. 


1 ? 


fvhere the dressmaker had calculated they should remain. 
Still with all tliis she was not an ungainly or awkward 
girl. On the contrary, she was as lithe as a bow, and 
straight as an arrow, with all manner of Unstudied 
Curves and bends in her agile movements. 

Her hair was a great contrast to Lucia’s rich 
golden locks. Viva’s was the darkest shade of brown, 
so dark that many called it black; while her eyes were 
a deep definite blue. Tender, truthful eyes were they, 
and set in a face of faultless complexion and features. 

Viva was beautiful, and her father knew it, and was 
intensely proud of her. 

Many little confidences were exchanged during the 
time occupied by the curling of Lucia’s hair, but the 
saddest of all was the news Viva told one day in joyful 
tones, “that this was her last term at the convent.” 

“ Oh Viva ! ” exclaimed the startled child, “ What 
shall I do when you are gone ? ” 

“Nonsense, Lucia, did you think I was to remain 
here all my life ? Why I should be obliged to take the 
veil and become a sister in order to do that. And I 
shall never be a sister I know : for it’s not my voca- 
tion.” 

“ Oh ! how I shall miss you. No one to comb my 
hair, no one to help me dress, no one to do all the things 
you do for me. And Viva,” throwing her arms around 
the neck of the girl, “no one for me to love, that is 
hardest of all. Don’t go Viva dear, don’t leave me,” 
and she pleaded with tears in her eyes, for her friend 
to stay by her. 

“ Why Lucia ! what are you crying about you silly 
little girl. I am not gone yet, and can’t go for a year. 
A whole 3’ear Lucia. Think of that? why you will be 
2 ‘ 


18 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


a big girl by that time, and quite able to care for your- 
self!” 

“ Perhaps I may, but that is not all I want Viva, I 
want you here to love,” answered the affectionate little 
thing. And she was unhappy for days afterward at the 
very prospect of losing her friend. 

So the weeks and months and years crept on, bring- 
ing very little change to the peaceful sisters and grow- 
ing girls in the convent. Each year two or three 
scholars went awaj^, and their places were filled by new 
faces. Occasionally, very occasionally, a sister dropped 
out of harness — that was all ! 

After Viva left, she wrote a few letters to Lucia. 
Then they ceased altogether. Two or three years later 
a boat stopped at the landing and put off a box for the 
convent. It contained a large cake, with the wedding 
cards of Viva. Then she passed out of the lives of all 
except Lucia. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE DEBUTANTE. 

The day was a beautiful, clear one in mid-winter. 
The sun shone gloriously down on the poor, as well as 
the rich, but its brightness only enhanced the misery 
and squalor of those whom poverty had marked for its 
own ; while the same brilliant ray illumined the costly 
trinkets of earth’s more favored children, with a glory 
and splendor far beyond the ken of the greatest artisan, 
or most cunning burnisher. 

The fresh soft breeze, quite spring-like in its sluggish 
languor, lazily lifted and rubbed together, the long dry 


THE DEBUTANTE. 


19 


leaves of the banana trees, which the brisk winds of 
winter had torn into thousands of fringe like tatters. 
They gave forth a little asthmatic sighing sound as 
though regretting the luscious fruit cut from their 
sturdy stems. 

It was just such a day as to make one long for the 
sunshine, and feel thankful for the very gift of life. 

And it was a busy day within the great house 
on St. Charles Avenue. Servants were running 
hither and thither in their efforts to execute multitu- 
dinous orders, and the laughing confusion of youthful 
voices only proved that their owners were a greater 
hinderance than help; yet it would have been difficult 
to convince them that the little they accomplished was 
not the most important feature of that grand occasion. 

Doctor and Madame Orlando were giving a “ Ger- 
man ” to introduce Lucia, their ward and godchild 
into society. 

Much was yet to be done ; flowers to be arranged, 
festoons and garlands to be fashioned and hung on the 
walls. The floor of the dining-room — improvised for 
the occasion into a ball-room — had to be polished. 
Cases of instruments in the Doctor’s little snuggery 
must be put out of sight, and the room meta- 
morphosed into a smoking den for the gentlemen. The 
supper had been ordered from “ Victors ” for old Aunt 
Dina was now too infirm to undertake the cooking 
that the occasion required. 

Frangois, the Doctor’s younger son — the boy who had 
been so kind to little seven-year-old Lucia when she 
had first come to his father’s house a lonely little 
orphan — had grown into a broad-shouldered, sturdy 
young man of twenty-five. He was now standing on a 
ladder trying to hang a garland of ivy and white 


20 


A BLONDS CBEOLS. 


laraustania over a high French window almost beyond 
his reach ; while a young girl with merry eyes of a 
bright blue-gray, stood near, laughing at bis difficulty 
which she greatly augmented by jerking the end, just 
as he got the garland near the nail. 

Frangois was threatening to make her hang it herself, 
unless she stopped hindering him, and looking down at 
her from his perch on the unsteady ladder, with any- 
thing but anger in his fine black eyes — when Lucia 
came quickly into the room. 

“ Elise will you and Frank stop your flirting, and 
finish the decorations of this room,” she demanded. - 
“It is growing late. And we must soon begin to 
dress.” 

“ Flirting ! ” contemptuously disclaimed Elise. “ Just 
as though Frank had eyes or ears for any other girl l 
than you ! Besides, I am not flirting ; I am dead in 
earnest.” 

“ Are you,” answered Frank, laughing down at her, i 
“what a pity I did not discover it without putting 
you to the confusion of confessing it ? ” 

“Well, now that you do know it, don’t take advan- 
tage of the knowledge, for I am not prepared to re- 
nounce Lucia’s friendship for you, handsome though | 
you be,” laughed the saucy girl. 

“ What nonsense you can talk, Elise. Come to my l 
room, I want to show you my dress which has just 1 
come home. ” So saying Lucia put her arm in that | 
of her friend, and together they went out, leaving 
Frank to complete his task alone. 

This was the same incorrigible Elise we left at the 
convent in Donaldsonville nine years ago. Two years 
since she finished school and went home to her par- 
ents in one of the neighboring counties. But after 


THE DEBUTANTE. 


21 


Viva Agnew left the convent, she and Lucia became 
warm friends, and continued such ever since, and was 
now come to spend the Carnival in New Orleans with 
her. 

All dancers are expected to be punctual at a 44 ger- 
man,” that they may take part in the opening dance, 
and receive their favors. 

Just as the clock struck ten, the musicians struck up 
44 II Bacio,” and then the ball was opened by Frank 
and Lucia who waltzed down the long room, then up 
again, each holding the end of an arch of jasmin and 
roses. They then stopped at the top of the room, the 
garland held up over their heads like a bower, through 
which the gentlemen passed keeping waltz time, then 
as they filed down the right side of the room, receiv- 
ing from the table at the foot, the opening favor, a 
silver monogram of the letter 44 L ” and 44 C ” fashioned 
into a brooch. This, the gentleman gave to the lady 
whom he wished to be his partner and together they 
waltzed up the room, passing through the floral arch, 
till all were coupled off and dancing. Then Frank 
and Lucia closed the ends of the arch, forming it into 
a wreath (which was easily done by slipping one end 
into a little socket of tin, prepared for this purpose) 
and each putting an arm through, let it fall to the 
waist on one side, while the upper part rested on their 
shoulders. Thus bound together in a floral circle they 
finished the dance. 

Other figures equally as pretty were introduced. 
Many of the favors were very novel and handsome. 
The last gift of the evening to the gentlemen, was a 
packet of cigarettes tied with colored ribbons. 

Frank and Lucia were capital partners. They 
floated and undulated up and down the long room, 


22 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


gliding in and out of little knots of dancers with an 
ease and rhythm, that was the very poetry of motion. 

Lucia, in her shimmering robe of white satin, looked 
like a stray moon beam flitting over the many colors of 
the merry dancers, and playing about the garlands of 
flowers so lavishly strewn everywhere. 

When this beautiful figure was over, she returned 
to the drawing-room to welcome some non-dancing 
guests, when she discovered Mrs. Jackson who had just 
arrived in company with a tall, square-shouldered man 
of very dignified bearing, and courtly manners. 
Lucia at once rushed up to her exclaiming : — 

“ Oh ! you darling Viva, I have been so very unhappy 
thinking you were not coming. What made you so 
late? but there is a brooch saved for you I know.” 

“You did not look very unhappy, I must say, floating 
around on Frank’s shoulder, but let me introduce my 
friend, Mr. Bruce.” When the little speeches neces- 
sary to an introduction were spoken, Viva, now Mrs. 
Jackson, said : 

“Just think dear, I was near not coming. After 
nine o’clock, I received a telephone from that wicked 
husband of mine, saying he would not leave the cus- 
tom-house for hours yet, and that I must come alone. 
I was awfully vexed, and had almost determined not to 
come at all, when Mr. Bruce dropped in to spend the 
evening with us and I brought him along, hoping to 
make Mr. Jackson so furiously jealous that he will come 
himself next time.” 

“ You know Viva dear, I am always pleased to see 
any of your friends, but I wish your husband had come 
also, for we are such jolly good friends.” 

“ Yes,” laughed Viva, “ you and Mr. Jackson have 


THE DEBUTANTE. 


23 


managed to get up a mutual admiration society, of two, 
eh? president and secretary, I suppose/’ 

“But come Vi, are you not going to dance? You are 
losing all this lovely music,” said Lucia. 

“ I shall not dance just now, but will you accept my 
friend as a partner.” 

“ He was only too happy,” was all he could say, and 
a little later when Viva looked into the ball-room she 
saw Lucia and Mr. Bruce gliding gracefully round the 
room, chatting and laughing as though they had not 
met only half an hour before for the first time in their 
lives. 

When the dance was over and Mr. Bruce had re- 
signed Lucia to the claims of Frank Orlando, and 
returned to Mrs. Jackson’s side, that lady demanded — 

“ Well, what do you think of her, is she up to the 
glowing colors I painted her in ? ” 

“ She is just charming,” he answered with great 
emphasis. “ You did not even tell me one half of her 
many attractions. She is certainly the loveliest girl I 
have seen since I came South, and that in a city re- 
nowned for the elegance and grace of its beautiful 
women.” 

“ I am glad you like her,” answered Viva, “ she is 
very sweet and amiable. I have known her ever since 
she was eight years old. She and I were at the con- 
vent together. Although I was within a year of finish- 
ing when she entered the juvenile class, we became 
firm friends at once. But we lost sight of one another 
for a time. I came home first; but as soon as she left 
the school, and found that I was living near, we re- 
sumed the old friendship.” 

An old lady who had come to chaperone her two 
daughters who had “been out” so long they had ceased 


24 


A BLONDE CKEOLE. 


to count the years, said to Madame Orlando, “ Lucia is 
looking very pretty to-night.” 

“ Yes, but I think she always looks pretty and espe- 
cially so to-night,” answered Madame Orlando witli 
pride, as she fondly gazed after her godchild, who was 
then passing on the arm of Francis. 

“ And Frangois thinks so too,” amended the old lady, 
“ for he scarcely gives another a chance to dance with 
her, and if she is dancing with some other partner he 
stands idly by, following her with his eyes, eagerly 
waiting his turn.” 

The old lady was jealously thinking of her two brown 
daughters who were making such dull wallflowers, and 
with the fewest favors to mark the number of partners 
they had. “But” — said she, still addressing Madame 
Orlando, “ I think Frank and Lucia will make a match 
before the winter is over. He is head and ears in love 
with her, that is plain to see.” 

“I don’t know,” answered Madame, “ I leave that to 
themselves. Things have very much changed in creole 
circles since you and I were young. Then children 
were betrothed in their cradle, and married at the 
earliest possible age that suited the convenience of their 
parents. I have come over to the reform caucus, and 
think love and the wishes of the contracting parties 
should be somewhat considered in a matter of such 
vital import to them,” and she tried to show her old 
friend and guest, by her manner, that she did not want 
to be questioned on affairs of the heart and marriage, 
but the old lady would not understand that it was none 
of her business ; for she presently asserted — 

“ I hear she is the granddaughter of a Count, and 
will come into a palace and untold wealth when her 
grandfather dies.” 


25 


“I LOVE YOU, LUCIA.” 

“Yes,” answered Madame Orlando. 44 She is certainly 
the granddaughter of a Count, and as she is his only 
grandchild, she should receive all he has. I don’t know 
of any one who has a better claim to his palace and 
money. But she did not satisfy the old lady by say- 
ing how little money there was for any one to claim. 

Saucy Elise was looking very handsome in a' dress of 
maize silk, caught here and there in the drapery with 
scarlet geraniums, and coral ornaments on her neck 
and arms. She was a favorite, and had many partners ; 
and had now stolen away to the supper-room on the 
arm of young Lafargue, who is telling her 44 how pretty 
she is,” and making the blushes on her cheeks rival the 
hue of her necklace. 

Harry Lafargue was head clerk in the law firm of 
Orlando, Orlando & Co. Francois being the 44 com- 
pany,” and his uncles the senior partners. He was a 
good looking young fellow, not particularly brilliant, 
but withal, considered a good parti. 


CHAPTER III. 

“I LOVE YOU, LUCIA.” 

When the last favor had been given, the 44 Home 
Sweet Home,” waltz been played and danced, the last 
carriage been driven off, and the last car-load of 
passengers taken up, and the house once more reduced 
to its normal quiet — then Madame Orlando sank into a 
chair and with a tired little sigh, said : 

44 Well, Lucia, I think our ball was a success; but 
I was so occupied with the elder guests that I scarcely 
got even a peep at you, wia chtre. Come here and let 


26 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


me see your dress. It is lovely and fits you to perfec- 
tion.” 

As Lucia got up, perhaps a little languidly, she 
looked very sweet in her gown of shimmering white 
satin that rolled and undulated like silvery waves about 
her feet, as she moved with a soft gliding motion to 
where Madame was sitting. 

She had removed the long white gloves from her 
little dimpled hands and perfectly rounded arms, on 
which she wore two massive bracelets of gold, a present 
that night from the Doctor to mark the occasion. 

Her beautiful hair, piled in soft little puffs above her 
brow was without ornament, save the burnished gold 
of its own bright lustre. 

As Madame looked at her, she was reminded of the 
beautiful young mother who had stood in that same 
room fifteen years before, and as she thought how very 
much Lucia looked like her, only a little taller, and 
not so fragile, the dear old lady breathed a deep sigh. 

The girl heard her and asked, “ Why do you sigh so, 
maman ? ” 

“ I suppose I am tired,” answered she, “ I will go to 
bed. Natalie and Elise crept into bed as soon as there 
was a chance of their doing so unobserved. You should 
come, too, mon enfant , you will be fearfully kocked up 
to-morrow unless you get some sleep to-night.” Say- 
ing this, she kissed the lovely face good-night, then 
held her own up for Frank to kiss, calling him her 
handsome Frangois, and turning into the hall, was 
quickly up-stairs. 

Lucia then offered her hand to Frank, but he said, 
“ don’t go yet, Lucia, I want a glass of wine, won’t you 
come with me to the supper-room before it is all locked 
up for the night ? ” 


27 


“ I LOYE YOU, LUCIA.” 

“ Yes,” she answered. 

As they passed through the dining-room, converted 
for the occasion into a ball-room, it presented such a 
contrast, with its withered flowers dropped everywhere 
over the floor, and the chairs in confusion, and the 
dust raised by the many dancing feet still in the air ; 
to the gay scene of scarcely an hour ago, that Lucia 
shivered, and said, “ This room makes one feel as 
though they were looking at their own deserted grave, 
it makes me shiver.” 

“ Come then,” said Frank, “ don’t remain here.” 

As he led her through the hall, he took up from the 
stand a fleecy white shawl, and folding it carefully 
round her, said, “ Come on the gallery a few minutes, 
I must have a breath of fresh air before going to bed; 
besides, I have something to say to you, little sister.” 

Frank frequently called her by this pet name, and 
she thought nothing of it. Only said, “ I am awfully 
sleepy Frank, don’t keep me long ? ” 

He led her to the vine-covered end, and drew her 
down on a seat, then folded the shawl more closely 
about her head and shoulders, letting his hands linger 
long and lovingly about her throat and arms. 

As he did not speak and the silence was becoming 
awkward, she looked up at the full, round face of the 
moon, and said the same words that have been used to 
cover embarrassment from time immemorial. They 
were — 

“ How beautiful the moon is to-night.” 

“ The same might be said of you, dear Lucia. Do 
you know you are as perfectly beautiful as yon 
moon ? ” 

“ So you have said before, Frank ; if you continue 


28 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


to flatter me so, I shall become very vain after 
awhile.” 

He seemed not to have heard her, but abruptly 
asked — 

“ Lucia, who is this Mr. Bruce that came with your 
friend, Mrs. Jackson, to night?” 

“ Indeed I do not know, be} T ond the fact of his being 
a friend of her husband, holding some government po- 
sition, I think,” said Lucia, evincing very little concern 
in the matter. 

“ Did you ever meet him before ? ” 

“ No, I was only introduced to him to-night.” 

•‘Well, Lucia, I don’t like him.” 

“You don’t, Frank? Why you don’t know if you 
like him or not, you have never met him before. This 
is unlike } r our generous self to take an antipathy with- 
out a good reason,” said Lucia. 

“Well, the truth of the matter is, that I did not like 
your dancing with the fellow so much. And then he 
looked at you as though he were clear gone — in love, 
you know ! ” 

“That is sheer folly, Frank; why I only danced 
with him three times ; and then, how could I refuse a 
gentleman’s favors unless I were engaged. Besides, he 
was a stranger to all present except Yi, so of course I 
had to pay him some attention,” pouted the tired Lu- 
cia. 

“ At any rate, don’t let him make love to you, that 
would break my heart.” 

“Nonsense Frank, you have no heart to break.” 

“ That is what you always say to me Lucia, I don’t 
believe you think I am in earnest. But Lucia — ” and 
here Frank slipped his hand under the shawl, taking 
( one of hers in his own. “I must tell you in candor 


“I LOVE YOT?, LtTCIA.” 


29 


and honor to-night, that I love you with all my soul, I 
love you Lucia till I have no interest in anything or 
anyone except your dear self. I love you with an in* 
tensity that amounts to pain, and if I thought yotf 
would accept the love of any other man, T would kill 
him before he should live to kiss the lips that must be 
kept for me.” In his eagerness to convince her of his 
excessive love, he slipped his arm around her waist, 
and drew her a shade nearer him. But Lucia did not 
respond, she sat straight and rigid, with her face turned 
from him ; while on the beautiful profile he could see 
the color coming and going, the red gold gleaming in 
her yellow hair, the eyes liquid and tender, the beauti- 
ful scarlet lips half open as though they would answer, 
but no word came. She only caught her breath and 
thought, “ Oh ! I hope he is not going to ask me to be 
his wife, for I do not know if I love him or not, I must 
wait and see.” 

What he had been saying she did not know. Only 
that he was now whispering in a voice tremulous with 
passion, “ Lucia, I love you, I love you madly. I love 
you with all my hot impetuous nature ; my mother and 
father love you, and wish ” 

“ Massa Frank, is yo’ da? Cos ef yo’ is, I’ll leave 
de do’ open,” broke in the voice of old Toby upon the 
stillness of the night air, and the low impassioned tones 
of Frank’s love-making. 

“ Yes, Toby, I am here, you may leave the door open, 
I will lock it when I come in.” 

“ Well, massa Frank, ole Toby is heaps oler dan yo’ 
is, an’ he tinks it time yo’ was in bed.” 

And launching this free advice to his young master, 
the old darkey took himself off. 

But the spell was broken. 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


BO 

Frank quietly drew his hand from around Lucia’s 
waist, while she got up, simply saying, “ Good-night, 
Frank,” then ascended the stairs. 

When she was in her own room she locked the door, 
and going up to the mirror looked at her own reflection 
for a minute, then, as it gave back no solution to the 
mental query she seemed to be making, she quietly re- 
moved her beautiful dress and ornaments, put on a 
dressing gown, then drew the pins from her hair and 
let the long coils ripple down her back. Dropping into 
an easy-cliair and with her eyes closed, she mur- 
mured — 

“Yes I am glad ; truly glad that he did not ask me 
to marry him. How thankful I am that Toby’s voice 
stopped the very words on his lips. I know that Frank 
loves me, poor dear Frank, and I love him too, but it 
must be with a sister’s love, since I do not feel desirous 
of marrying him. I know that his parents and Natalie 
want me to marry him, for they have told me so, but I 
do not think I love him well enough to live with him 
all my life a good, faithful, devoted wife. I might see 
some one else after my marriage that I loved better, 
then what would I do ? I must wait and find out if I 
love Frank or not. Poor dear old Frank, whom I have 
always called 4 big brother.’ He is very handsome, 
too.” 

“ Heigh ho ! I think I will go to bed now. If I 
cogitated all night I don’t believe the solution to the 
riddle would be arrived at. Natalie says, ‘ love comes 
after marriage ; ’ Viva says, 4 it does not ; ’ they should 
know for they both have tried it ; and yet they differ in 
opinion.” 

Viva’s name recalled her friend, Mr. Bruce, to mind, 
and she smiled as she laid her head on the pillow and 






















































































































































































































































































- 




















































* ■' 

























































“I CANNOT MARRY AN OCTOROON. 1 


31 


said, “ he is awfully handsome, but one feels a little 
afraid of so much manly dignity; still I like him.” 
And with a yawn she fell asleep, the memory of Frank’s 
rival, the last image in her mind. 


CHAPTER IV. 

“ I CANNOT MARRY AN OCTOROON.” 

When the cold grey dawn was struggling with dusky 
night for the possession of the chill winter’s morning, it 
found Francois still pacing up and down the long front 
gallery, smoking hard at the cigar, which was gnawed 
to rags between his white teeth, as though its bright 
spark was the motor power of the machinery which im- 
pelled him so fiercely, to and fro. 

When the “Havana” had burned within a danger- 
ous proximity to his black moustache, he gave the 
weed a fierce nip or two, then threw it over the rail 
into a bed of flowers, and dropped into the seat where 
he had told Lucia scarcely an hour ago, “that he loved 
her above all else. ” Then resting his elbows on the 
rail, and with his chin buried in his two hands, watched 
the spark as it glowed anew for a few moments in the 
fresh breeze and then suddenly went out. 

“Yes,” he muttered, “that is the way my love-mak- 
ing goes out by the breath of Fate.” 

Then a smile — neither joyous nor happy — but still a 
smile, lingered for a moment about the corners of his 
lips, as he continued his train of thought. 

“ If old uncle Toby knew that he had been the emis- 
sary of Fate, and did me such a service by putting in 
his black appearance at the most critical moment pos- 


32 


A BLONDE CBEOLE. 


sible, lie would make me give him an extra dollar, and 
by gad, it would be cheap too at many dollars. 

“ Mon Dieu ! I am frightened to think of the conse- 
quences that would have followed had I asked Lucia to 
marry me — which I so nearly did — and she had ac- 
cepted, as I feel sure she would. 

“I know my father and mother would be delighted, 
could I this morning lead Lucia — beautiful Lucia— to 
them and say, ‘ that in reality she will evermore be 
their dear daughter.’ But I dare not. I am really not 
afraid of Aline and her threats of vengeance, but it 
would be deuced awkward to say the least of it, if she 
tried to execute her oft repeated warnings, or made a 
scene, and tried to injure the girl, or any other woman 
whom I might be disposed to marry. 

“The sensation and scandal it would create and re- 
veal is utterly appalling ! Sickening even to think of. 
And yet I cannot give up Lucia’s love. M3M how I 
love her ? Never did I give Aline or any other, such 
love as I feel for her. And how radiantly lovely she 
looked to-night with her sweet face upturned to the 
clear beams of the moon that gave her almost a saint- 
like expression. No wonder, I lost my head ; my heart 
has been lost to her ever since she returned from school. 
Aye, I think I loved her when she was a child of eight, 
and I only a boy of thirteen, and she placed under my 
especial care during that unhappy time which made her 
and many others, orphans. Yes, I have loved her ever 
since that time. 

“ My ! what a fool I have been to entangle myself so 
irretrievably with Aline ? And she thinks I will marry 
her ! ” 

At the very thought he sprang to his feet, and paced I 
the floor again, all the while muttering under his 


“I CANNOT MARRY AN OCTOROON.” 33 

breath : “ Marry Aline ? Good Heavens ! what can the 
woman be thinking of? She is never satisfied. I give 
her a cosy little home, all the money I can spare, am 
good and kind to her, and now she shows her apprecia- 
tion for all this by demanding a greater sacrifice. 
Marry her ! Why, my proud old father would go dis- 
tracted at the disgrace, and I don’t wonder. For ours 
is a proud old name, we trace our ancestry back in one 
continuous unbroken chain to the times of Isabella of 
Spain. We are true creoles. Never has a dishonor 
shadowed our grand old escutcheon, and now to ask me 
to marry her ! A woman with negro blood in her veins, 
is too much even to contemplate,” and a scornful light 
flashed from his keen black eyes as he assured himself 
of the absurdity of the proposition even. Then he 
stopped and remarked : — 

“ We belong to the true aristocracy of the South. 
We were a family of position and wealth long before 
this State was bought by the United States Govern- 
ment. Many of the plantations still in our family were 
conferred as grants or bought from some old Spanish 
‘ Don ,’ or French ‘ Due,' long before this little continent 
was the grand universe that it now is. 

“ My father is a great stickler for the conventionali- 
ties and respectabilities of life. And I don’t blame 
him; for we have been a proud and brave family ever. 
The old oaks over the river in Algiers, and those in the 
city park, could they but speak, would recount many 
duels fought with Orlando pistols or swords, years and 
years ago. 

“ Our men have always been dashing, even reckless 
men, fond of pleasure and its pursuits; laughed, or 
danced themselves into all kinds of scrapes, which they 
have been brave enough to fight their way out of. But 
3 


34 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


as to giving our name legally to an octoroon, that has 
never been done yet, thank Heaven! We will never 
mix the races. We are free from that taint — but — but 
there is little Frank. Yes, he is my child, and Aline’s. 
Poor little chap ! ” And all the scorn left his lips and 
face as he thought of his son who had no name. He 
stood still, and clenched the back of the chair in a 
weak, helpless sort of way, repeating, “ Yes, little Frank 
has my blood in his veins, the good old blue blood of 
an Orlando, but no name. This would kill my father 
in his pride and old age, especially now that his health 
is failing. He must never know it. Poor old father.” 
Then he went on : — 

“ He might forgive me a theft, a murder even, and 
find some extenuating circumstances to justify the act. 
But marriage — real bona fide marriage with an octoroon 
— that he could never forgive. 

“ How fortunate it is I never bound myself by any 
form when I was so madly in love with her, and she 
held such sway over me. Oh well ! that time is passed. 
I was but a boy then, and never looked into the future, 
no matter how near. 

“ Poor Aline ! She loves me very much and it will be 
hard for her to give me up. But she must understand 
that it is impossible for me to marry her. I will do 
what I can for her and the boy, and after a time she 
will get over it. But I must have dear little Lucia for 
my wife. I love her, yes, I love her truly, and I 
think — yes, I know she loves me.” As he turned round 
and faced the eastern sky, he exclaimed : 

“Well! it is broad daylight, the servants must not 
open the house and find me still out here with my even- 
ing clothes on, for they are such suspicious creatures, 
these darkies, and will imagine all sorts of things.” 


“ YOU PROMISED TO MARRY ME.” 35 

Thus saying he locked the door, and went to his 
room, took off the overcoat he had drawn over his 
evening dress, and then prepared to lie down. 

He had no idea he could sleep with so much on his 
heart and mind, and was thinking what he should say 
to Aline that very day, and how he would begin at 
once “ to break” with her, when all things became 
confused, and he fell asleep. 

Youth is very buoyant. It is not long depressed. 
Frank was surprised on being awakened by his servant, 
with the accustomed cup of black coffee at eight 
o’clock, to find that he had slept three hours. He 
drank it, then immediately got up and prepared to go 
to his office, before any of the household should be 
astir. 


CHAPTER Y. 

“ YOU PROMISED TO MARRY ME.” 

So true is it that, “ Man’s love is of man’s life a 
thing apart,” that Frank entirely forgot both Lucia 
and Aline during the day, and devoted his attention to 
his dry-as-dust law papers and his clients, as though 
they were his only interest in life. But when four 
o’clock came, and he was free to leave the office, a 
pang shot through the muscular organ that did duty 
for a heart, as he thought of Aline and what he should 
say to her. 

Aline recognized the footsteps of Frank and sprang 
to open the door for him with her baby in her arms. 
She was pleased to see him, and smiled her happi- 
ness and welcome. She put the boy into his arms, 


86 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


too, to receive his quota of attention. The little fel- 
low knew Frank instantly, and made every effort to 
show his joy in his own baby fashion, all the while coo- 
ing “ da-da.” 

But before long Aline discovered that Frank was 
not as cheerful and happy as usual, and asked with 
concern glowing from every feature of her pretty ex- 
pressive face, “ if he was not well.” 

“ Yes, I am quite well, but very tired and sleepy,” he 
answered. 

“ Are you ? ” she said, “ well, never mind, when 
dinner is finished you can lie down and have a good 
nap. How did the ball pass off ? ” 

“ Oh, very well, I think we may pronounce it a suc- 
cess,” he answered indifferently. 

“How did the debutante look? Tell me something 
of her dress, was it very pretty ? ” 

This question made directly in reference to Lucia 
seemed to awaken him to a new interest, for he an- 
swered, “ Lovely, simply lovely. She is the hand- 
somest girl I ever saw in my life and last night she 
looked positively superb in her floating draperies of 
white. All white you know, sash and all, and she 
dances divinely.” 

Aline was occupied in folding away a piece of sew- 
ing as she asked these questions, but when she discov- 
ered the eagerness in Frank’s voice as he tried in his 
masculine way to describe Lucia’s dress, she glanced 
furtively in his face, and what she read there gave her 
great throbs of pain. Had he looked at her just then, 
he would have detected a new light in her grey eyes, 
and a pallor steal over her already pale face. But no, 
fool that he was, went on talking of Lucia and her 
charms, as though he were not speaking to a woman 


“YOU PROMISED TO MARRY ME.” 37 

who belonged to a jealous race, and to the woman 
whose feelings he, above all others, should have con- 
sidered, since he knew her best, and for his pleasure 
she is what she is. 

Her hands fell helplessly in her lap, and in a low con- 
centrated voice she said : 

“Take care, Frank. Don’t allow yourself to fall in 
love with this girl whom you have always spoken of as 
“ sister,” for if you do, I swear by the Virgin that it 
will go hard with both you and her. Do you think I shall 
stand idly by and see my child robbed of his rights, 
robbed of his father? You promised my mother in 
writing to marry me and give my child the name he 
has a right to ; and you shall marry me or no other 
woman. If you attempt it, I will make you rue it all 
the days of your life.” Then her voice broke, and she 
continued more softly, “We have been very happy, 
you and I, Frank, and I never reproached you for I 
loved you so dearly, and love you yet so well, that I 
would take the same step again with mj r eyes open ; 
and am willing that things should go on as they have 
been for nearly three years past. But you must not 
make me wild by praising any other woman in such 
glowing terms, for I can’t stand it. Were my position 
more secure with you, I would not mind,” and here she 
slid to the floor at his feet, and locked her two hands 
around his neck, and continued, “ darling, I am like a 
miser who always lives in dread lest his gold be stolen 
from him. You are my gold, Frank ; my treasure. I 
cannot part with you. Tell me you do not love this 
girl. Tell me, darling, and I shall be happy,” she pleaded 
with tears in the soft eyes upturned so pleadingly to 
his. 

“ I think I have loved Lucia ever since m}^ mother 


38 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


brought her to our home a little orphan ten years ago,” 
he said, looking away from her face. 

“ Yes, I know you love her as a sister, Frank, you 
have always told me so. But I was fearful there was 
some other love dawning in your heart. Tell me there 
is not. Tell me that you will not let your parents 
force you into a marriage with her. You are not 
engaged to marry her, are you Frank, my own dar- 
ling?” 

Frank had listened quietly to this outpouring of 
passionate pleading, but all the while feeling most un- 
comfortable, and thinking within his heart, that it 
would not be so easy to “ break ” with Aline as he had 
hoped it might be. 

When she dropped at his feet and put her arms 
around his neck, gazing with such earnest eyes into his 
own, pleading to be allowed to make wrong right, as far 
as in her power lay, Frank thought how beautiful she 
still was, and stroked her straight brown hair, as her 
head rested on his breast, and he answered truthfully : 

44 No, Aline dear, I certainly am not engaged to 
Lucia.” 

“ Nor have you ever asked her to be your wife, 
Frank?” 

“No, I have never asked her to be my wife,” and he 
felt particularly virtuous that he could look her in the 
eyes, and tel] the truth, which she desired so much to 
hear. “ But, Aline, you must not worry me so much 
with this matter. Don’t be jealous, little woman. You 
have me and the boy, so be happy, dear,” he said, as he 
pressed a calm, cold kiss on her smooth, white brow. 
To show her that the subject was distasteful to him, he 
put his arm around her waist and lifted her to her feet, 
while he, too, stood up. 


89 


44 YOU PROMISED TO MARRY ME.” 

As she stands there trying to smile down the jealous 
fears that will assert themselves in spite of his declar- 
ation, let us look at her. 

Aline Blanc, for that is her name notwithstanding 
the fact of her being known in the neighborhood as 
Madame Francois — is a tall slender young woman, not 
yet twenty years of age. 

It has been already said that her eyes are grey ; but 
they are such shadowy eyes that they might be any 
shade of grey from the soft tender grey of the timid 
fawn, to the cold steel-grey of the vindictive stiletto. 
At times a strange sinister light would leap from their 
grey depths as though her soul was just awakening to 
mortality, and looked with distrust upon all things 
human. 

A clear white complexion, free from the least shade 
of coloring, covers a brow smooth as polished marble, 
from which the masses of straight brown hair is combed 
in a pompador puff. But the most beautiful feature of 
Aline’s face is her mouth, with a dimple at each corner, 
and lips scarlet as pomegranate blossoms. One always 
feels disposed to watch the play of these full sensual 
lips while she talks, for they seem to express so much 
humor, or pathos, according to her mood. 

Was it any wonder that Frank Orlando loved her ? 

Some remote Spanish ancestor of the Blanc’s had al- 
lied himself to a West Indian negress during the early 
days of Louisiana, when no questions were asked, or 
notice taken of mixed marriages, in a country populated 
principally by negroes. This taint was so far removed 
that not a trace of it could be detected in Aline’s com- 
plexion or features, except perhaps, by the nostril 
which was slightly distended, and which to the initiated 
tells so much. But how many have rather wide nos- 


40 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


trils, even in a nation free from the smallest negro ele- 
ment ? 

It is the common idea to suppose that those so un- 
fortunate as to number among their ancestors, those in 
whose veins flow’d the smallest drop of negro blood, is 
of dark complexion, and may even have “ kinky ” hair. 
But this is a great mistake. Many in whom the taint 
is less far removed than it was in Aline, are very fair, even 
to flaxen hair and blue eyes. 

It is a singular fact that the pure creoles who have no 
negro blood in their veins at all, are always dark. But 
this is doubtless owing to their being born of a dark 
people, Spanish, Italian or French. The octoroon or 
quadroon, and sometimes even the mulatto, is occa- 
sionally many shades fairer than the creole. 

Frank Orlando was much darker than Aline, and 
looked less like a Caucasian than she, a woman whom 
any man might love, especially he, who admired all 
beautiful women and coveted them for his own. 

This was the most selfish characteristic of his nature, 
a blight among the many generous and attractive qual- 
ities he possessed. Believing that woman was made 
solely for man’s pleasure and amusement, he seized all 
that came in his way as his native right. 

He was not a bad man ; on the contrary, he had many 
good qualities ; was generous to a fault and lavish with 
his money ; was warm-hearted and kind, and a good 
business man. Men called him a “right jolly good 
fellow.” But he was selfish where women were con- 
cerned. This was the weak side of his character. 
Women all admired him, and called him “ Handsome 
Frank.” No man was more successful, and he con- 
quered seemingly without an effort. 

His little mother simply idolized him, and thought 


YOU PROMISED TO MARRY ME.' 


41 


u 


no indulgence too great to be lavished upon her boy, 
and no woman living worthy of him, except, perhaps, 
Lucia. So he was well spoiled. 

When Frank first met and loved Aline, he did not 
know that she had the taint of the negro in her blood, 
it being so far removed that there was no trace in her 
face, her voice, or her manner. But had he been cog- 
nizant of the fact, it would have made no difference to 
him, for he was so madly in love with her fair face and 
graceful figure, that he would have overlooked things 
even far more objectionable. 

He induced the poor girl, who returned his love 
with an ardor equal to his own, to leave her home and 
her friends to share his fortunes, under the promise of 
marriage when his circumstances should permit of it. 

He did not then think of his parents’ objection, or 
any other obstacle, in his determination to seal for his 
own, the passionate wild love that Aline lavished upon 
him. 

At the birth of their little boy, she was exceedingly 
ill, and her mother had been sent for. Frank was then 
very anxious, and promised Mrs. Blanc that he would 
marry Aline as soon as she was sufficiently recovered 
to endure the ceremony. But when she was restored 
to health again, he deferred it for one reason or the 
other, until Lucia came home from the convent and he 
imagined himself in love with her. Then he deter- 
mined to postpone it indefinitely, and to give up Aline 
altogether if she proved an obstacle to his marriage 
with the new star that had arisen in the firmament of 
his fickle heart. 


42 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE STORM. 

One morning during the week following the “ ger- 
man,” Viva Jackson sent a note to Lucia, asking if she 
would call with her upon the great actress, Miss Char- 
lotte Cushman, who was then playing in New Orleans, 
and stopping at the St. Charles Hotel. 

Of course Lucia was charmed to go, for she had 
never seen the great actress either on, or off the stage ; 
and had a desire to know the woman who at sixty years 
of age could move an audience as few younger, or 
more beautiful actresses had power to do. 

All day the clouds had been collecting and piling 
themselves up in dense heavy masses, hanging so low 
that one felt their dampness in the very air they 
breathed, and the thunder muttered and rolled omin- 
ously near. 

There was a dread stillness in the air, that frightened 
the very birds which flew off with a “ tweet ” to shelter 
their nests against the bursting of the storm, and left 
the music of nature to be performed by great frogs, 
that ranged themselves along the margins of the dry 
ditches, croaking their eagerness for the rain which 
would fill its banks, and give them such fine sport. 

Still as the air was, the leaves on the trees rustled 
and trembled with a motion all their own, independent, 
it seemed, of atmospheric influences, and dropped their 
leaves with a dejected air on the grass beneath their 


THE STORM. 


43 


sturdy branches, as if they were paying a last sad trib- 
ute to nature. 

Lucia had frequently gone into the garden to see if 
there were any signs of the storm passing over, and 
spending its fury upon some neighboring town, more 
desirous of its refreshing presence than they, but had 
only the same report to make on her entry. Sighing 
aloud she said : 

“ I am so afraid that Viva will not dare to venture 
out in the face of the rain. We shall then lose this 
visit which I am so desirous to make.” 

Madame Orlando remarked, “ I shall be very anxious 
if you go Lucia, for you know I am so afraid of thunder 
and lightning, and at such times like to feel that all my 
birds are snug in the home nest, and safe from the dan- 
gers of the elements.” 

“ How foolish you are, maman , one is no safer in the 
house than outside during a thunder storm. Houses 
are more frequently struck than individuals. The only 
advantage is, that one is safe from a wetting indoors, 
unless the wind carries the roof off,” she mischievously 
added. “ You know I am not afraid of thunder and 
lightning. I love to watch a grand storm. The war 
of the elements, with the heavenly artillery charging 
against each other, is to me perfectly sublime. It fills 
me with a holy awe when I think what pigmies men 
and women are, imagining themselves so powerful, and 
yet there is not an element they can ” 

Her sage philosophy was here interrupted by the en- 
trance of Viva carrying an umbrella in her hand, and a 
water proof cloak over her arm. As she stood in the 
doorway she said : 

“Well, Lu, what do you think of the weather? Are 
you heathen enough to risk the consequences should 


44 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


the rain threaten to drown us before we reach shelter? 
For my part I don’t believe the storm will burst before 
evening ; in that case we shall be safely at home again, 
laughing at our present anxieties.” 

“ Oh, I’m not afraid of being drowned, I shall fortify 
myself as you have,” pointing to the cloak and um- 
brella. “ Only I was thinking that perhaps Miss Cush- 
man might not expect us, and wonder at our want of 
judgment in making a visit in the face of a thunder- 
storm.” 

“ On that point, you need have no compunction. I 
don’t suppose Miss Cushman is aware that there is a 
storm brewing. Actresses never consider the weather 
any further than to protect themselves against it ; for 
they are so constantly obliged to brave the elements in 
their vocation of entertaining us, that it is a secondary 
matter with them. Their chief concern, as regards the 
weather, is, that it may cause a less full house, that is 
all. She wrote for me to come, and appointed her own 
time, so of course she will expect me,” said Viva, “and 
I intend to go.” 

“Well, in that case I will go too,” added Lucia, and 
away she ran for her wraps, not heeding the sigh poor 
old Madame Orlando disburdened herself of, and cast 
after her as she ran out of the room. 

Viva’s prognostics did not prove correct. For they 
scarcely had time to reach the hotel and be seated 
in the parlor of Miss Cushman’s suite, when they were 
fairly startled from their seats by a terrific peal of 
thunder. A crash that seemed to burst directly over 
the hotel, making it quiver to the nethermost stone of 
the foundation, rolling and crashing with a sharp me- 
tallic sound, as though thousands of cannon balls had 
been dropped upon and rolled along the roof. 


THE STORM. 


45 


The lightning flashed through the windows in long 
blue-white streaks, almost simultaneously with the 
thunder, turning their faces livid in the unearthly 
light. 

For an instant there was a dead stillness over all na- 
ture, then sheets of rain fell as if a waterspout had 
burst over the city. The rattle and clatter of the big 
drops as they fell on the pavement below, sounded 
like a shower of gravel let fall from the sky. 

Miss Cushman darted to a window and closed it, 
while a gentleman, whom she had just introduced to 
Viva and Lucia as “my manager, Mr. Carrol,” sprang 
to another and pulled it down with a loud bang. Then 
returning to the startled girls, said, “ You ladies were 
in luck to reach shelter so opportunely.” 

“ Yes,” chimed in the clear voice of Miss Cushman, 
“you have had a lucky escape. But my! that was a 
sudden bursting upon us of all the light and sound the 
firmament is capable of,” then laughingly said to Mr. 
Carrol, “ it was a good imitation of our stage thunder 
and lightning, especially the hissing of the rain, as the 
gravel rolls down the long box.” 

Lucia was not really afraid of the lightning, but she 
had been startled, and turning her face, a trifle paler 
than usual, to Viva, said: “Poor maman! How un- 
happy she will be about me. I wish I had some means 
of letting her know that I was safe in the hotel before 
that great flash came. She will worry herself almost 
into an illness about it.” 

Upon hearing her remark, Mr. Carrol asked “ if they 
had not a telephone in the house.” 

“ Yes,” responded she. 

“Well, if you will give me your number I will go 
down to the office and send her a ’phone.” 


46 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


Lucia thanked him for his kindness, as he left the 
room to execute her message. But the lightning con- 
tinued to flash, and the pealing of the thunder was so 
frequent and so loud, that they could not carry on a 
conversation very comfortably. Then Miss Cushman 
suggested, “ it would be best to shut out the storm, for 
we can’t talk, and don’t want to listen to its fierce mut- 
tering ; ” so she got up and dropped the shades to her 
windows, and drew the curtains quite across them. 
Then as she turned round and discovered how dark the 
room was, laughingly said : — 

“ How foolish of me ? I should have lighted the gas 
first.” 

After she had busied herself with shutting out the 
storm and taken a seat near the girls, she looked at 
Viva and asked : “ Do you remember vour mother, 

dear?” 

“No, unhappily, I do not,” answered Viva. “I was 
very young when she died you know.” 

“Ah,” sighed Miss Cushman, “she was a dear girl, 
and my warmest friend. I think you look very much 
like her ; you have her pretty blue eyes and dark hair. 
And she was such a sweet singer ! Have you been 
fortunate enough to inherit her talent ? ” 

“ Not to, any very great extent, I am sorry to say. 
But my friend,” smiling at Lucia, “is more fortunate. 
Her parents were both fine musicians, and their double 
mantle has fallen upon her shoulders, and she wears it 
well.” 

“Indeed!” exclaimed Miss Cushman, “then I wish 
you would kindly indulge me with some music, Miss 
Corletti. I cannot half talk with the rain pouring 
down in such torrents, and the thunder muttering so 
hoarsely. It is like a second deluge. I am not upset 


THE STORM. 


47 


by electrical influences generally, but admit that I am 
a little nervous to-day.” 

Lucia was a good performer and an exception to the 
average young lady one meets in society now, who re- 
quire all manner of persuasion to induce her to oblige 
her friends with the accomplishment that has cost her 
parents so much money, and her teachers such patience, 
and pretend, “ they are out of practice, or have such a 
cold,” when asked to play or sing. 

Lucia gave neither as an excuse for displaying her 
decided talent, or best of teaching, but simply took off 
her gloves, and looking a little shy, turned to Viva and 
asked, “ What shall I play ? ” 

“I don’t know, anything you please, unless Miss 
Cushman has a choice.” 

She had not. Then Lucia, with marvellous rapid- 
ity, ran her fingers up and down the keys “ to limber 
them ” she said, after their imprisonment in the neatly 
fitting gloves she wore. After thinking a moment she 
dashed into Wagner’s “Music of the Future.” She 
played as though she were inspired, or under the spell 
of the harmony which she herself produced. 

When she came to that part wherein the storm rages 
so wildly, she reproduced the roll of the thunder, and 
swish of the rain so cleverly, that those in the room 
scarcely knew if the sounds came from the instrument, 
or from the actual storm outside. 

When she had finished and turned to them, Viva 
asked, “ What on earth induced you to play that wild 
thing, Lu ? Just as though we were not having enough 
genuine storm at present without sham thunder. I am 
sure Miss Cushman is not feeling much brighter from 
your effort. Now you must sing something lively to 


48 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


chase away the 4 blue devils ’ your music and the storm 
have conjured up.” 

“ Oh, I am so sorry,” said Lucia, 44 I never thought 
of that. Indeed the elements themselves prompted me 
almost unconsciously to choose it.” 

Mr. Carrol here came in, and told Lucia that Madame 
Orlando had herself answered the telephone, and was 
glad to know they had escaped the rain, but it was a 
few minutes before the wires would work properly, ow- 
ing to the electrical disturbances. 

Then she sang, 44 It is better to laugh than be sigh- 
ing,” which put her little audience in better spirits. 

Mr. Carrol applauded, and then asked if she would 
sing his favorite ballad, 44 Auld Robin Grey.” 

It was a favorite of hers also, and she sang it with 
much sweetness and pathos, enunciating every word so 
distinctly, that they all followed the sad little story as 
though they had never heard it before. 

When the song was finished, Miss Cushman thanked 
her, and said, 44 My dear, you have a very rich young 
voice, true and sweet. Don’t give it up to the public, 
keep it for your friends.” 

Lucia laughingly assured her, 44 there was not much 
chance of her doing that.” 

And then, as the actress wanted to hear some partic- 
ulars of the friend of her girlhood, she asked Mr. Carrol 
44 to entertain Miss Corletti for a little while, that she 
might talk to Mrs. Jackson.” 

He was only too glad to take Lucia to the other side 
of the room, and asked her all manner of questions 
concerning her quaint old city and customs of its creole 
people. 


MEG MERRILIES. 


49 


CHAPTER VII. 

MEG MERRILIES. 

A few hours later Lucia danced into the drawing- 
room, like the veritable child she was, in all her “ war- 
paint ” and finery, ready to go to the theatre and oc- 
cupy a seat in the box which Miss Cushman had pre- 
sented to Viva, with the wish “ that Lucia would also 
come.” 

She could talk of nothing else than the grand old 
actress, and her charming manager ; regreting so much 
that he was not an actor, for she declared “ he would 
look exceedingly handsome behind the footlights,” and 
made old Madame Orlando smile at her enthusiasm, 
when describing the pleasures of her visit to the hotel 
during the day. 

At last she heard the sound of carriage wheels stop- 
ping before the garden gate, and knew it was Viva 
with her husband, come to take her, and hurried on her 
wraps, as though the whole performance depended upon 
her being in time. 

Imagine her surprise when Mr. Bruce was shown in 
with Viva, who said that her husband had a previous 
engagement, and had sent Mr. Bruce as a substitute, 
but that he would come for them before the perform- 
ance was over. 

Although there was plenty of time Lucia hurried 
them away, chatting and laughing at everything, and 
nothing, as though she were mad with pleasure. 

Mr. Bruce and Viva laughed with her in pure sym- 

4 


50 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


pathy, and the former thought he had never met a more 
animated or lovely girl in his whole life, and was proud 
to be seen standing behind her chair in the box, when 
he discovered all glasses levelled at them. 

Lucia could not conceal her surprise as well as pleas- 
ure, when Miss Cushman, as “ Meg Merrilies ” dashed 
on to the stage and stood for a moment leaning upon a 
staff, her grey hair dishevelled and straggling wildly 
about her shoulders, and her ragged gipsy garments 
clinging to her gaunt figure. 

She found it difficult to recognize the trim neat little 
lady of a few hours before, in this ragged toothless old 
hag. 

Miss Cushman saw and recognized them, and when 
she had the opportunity smiled them a welcome. 

Between the acts, Mr. Carrol came to the box and 
told them some little points of interest about the differ- 
ent actors who were taking part in the play. 

He was introduced to Mr. Bruce, who found they had 
mutual friends in the North, and so the evening glided 
away most delightfully. 

Next morning at breakfast, Lucia was told that 
Frangois had spent the evening with his mother and was 
disappointed at not finding her at home. Madame 
Orlando said, “ Ma Jille, Frangois thinks it is not quite 
the right thing for you to be seen in public with Viva’s 
Yankee friend, unless you know more of his anteced- 
ents. He seemed altogether upset at Viva’s thought- 
lessness, in bringing him here in the first instance.” 

“Nonsense, maman ,” said Lucia, “Mr. Bruce is a 
thorough gentleman, or Mr. Jackson would not allow 
him to visit his house. I believe they were school fel- 
lows, or something of the sort ; and he knows him quite 
intimately. Frank told me at our dance that he did 


MEG MERRILIES. 


51 


not like him, when he had never seen or heard of him 
before that very night. Frank only dislikes him be- 
cause he is a Northerner, a ‘Yankee’ as he dubbed 
him. It is too long now since the war, to harbor 
malice and Frank should try to -bury the hatchet as the 
4 Yankees ’ do.” 

44 Ah, mon enfant” sighed Madame Orlando. “The 
Yankees can well bury the hatchet, handle and all ; 
for they lost nothing. It is only we poor Southerners 
who lost everything. Yes, lost our beautiful homes, 
our poor improvident negroes who depended upon us 
for their daily bread, and for clothes to cover them- 
selves with, and our young men, the very flower of our 
country. You know nothing of that sad time dear 
child, before you were born, or even your dear parents 
had come to our unfortuuate country. The hatchet 
will never be completely buried while a Southern 
woman lives to remember the delights of the old 
rdgime, and the depredations — the insults heaped upon 
them by the Northern army and the “Yankee inter- 
loper” who was jealous of our prestige and pros- 
perity.” 

“For shame, maman , how can you talk so? You 
know they were fighting for the preservation of the 
Union, which really meant home to them, while you 
were fighting for your plantations and negroes. I 
suppose there were errors on both sides, but I know 
nothing definite of the war, except that money and 
lands changed hands. The Southerner who was pre- 
viously rich, is now poor ; and the Northerner who was 
poor before the war, is now rich.” 

“ No, dear, you know nothing of the war, nor of its 
horrors, and pray heaven you never may. But I re- 
member, all too well, the bright spring morning — years 


52 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


before you were born — when my two young brothers 
rode up to the gallery of our plantation home, where 
we were all congregated to bid the 4 good-bye ’ and 
4 god-speed.’ Little did we think it was the last time 
we should ever look into the face of Dalmar, our 
merry, happy boy, not two years older than myself — 
and 1 was but a child — although I was married. “ Ah ! ” 
again sighed the little lady, while a filmy mist gath- 
ered over her bright black eyes, 44 too well do I remem- 
ber that morning when they cantered up the drive, in 
their new grey Leiutenants’ uniforms, with the sun 
glinting on the bright brass buttons, showing the peli- 
can of Louisiana on each, and their white gloves, 
handsome enough to wear at a ball. And their two 
servants as well mounted and as handsomely uni- 
formed as themselves ; only of course, they had no 
officer’s strap on their shoulders. Their baggage had 
gone on the day before ; and I remember my chief con- 
cern was, the fear that they had not enough white 
gloves with them to last the campaign through.” 

“We bade them,” she continued, “such a jolly 
good bye, all the while singing “ Dixie,” for we were 
sure the war would be ended in three months, as some 
of our Generals anticipated, and then we pictured 
“ the boys ” riding home again, as bright and jolly as 
when they went away, and determined to give a dance to 
celebrate their return. Poor little Joseph was only 
then sixteen years of age. He envied his brothers all 
the homage paid them, and already looked upon them 
as heroes. When things grew dark with the South, 
and the army required re-enforcing, we, like all true 
Southerners sent him “ our baby boy ” to that hero, 
General Robert E. Lee. It was just two years after 
the eventful morning when the others had ridden 


MEG MERRILIES. 


53 


away to glory and to fame — as we thought. But he 
had no white gloves ; all such vanity was now forgot- 
ten. We made his uniform out of some grey blankets 
which we had for the negroes. Mounted on the back 
of an old hack, the best horse left to us, and amidst 
kisses and tears, he quietly rode away to give his 
young life to his country, for he fell in the first en- 
gagement'; and now rests in a soldier’s unmarked 
grave in Virginia. The war had by that time become a 
very serious matter to us poor Southerners ; and many 
of us saw want and misery staring us in the face, al- 
though we kept up such brave hearts, and tried to 
smile and laugh over our coffee made from rye, or 
roasted sweet potatoes, and sweetened with molasses.” 

“ It was much harder for the old people than for us 
younger ones. They could not stand the agony of see- 
ing their young sons sacrificed to a war which should 
never have been, and this, with the loss of our 
negroes, our stock, and our farming implements, 
whereby we could not even till the ground, nor raise 
food for ourselves, broke my dear old father’s heart, 
and he died without even the little necessaries and 
medicines so essential to his comfort and to his dis- 
ease.” 

The memory of that sad time was too much for the 
dear old lady, and as the tears coursed each other 
down her wrinkled cheeks, Lucia softly glided to her 
side, and with her head resting on the shoulder of the 
woman who had been a mother to her, said : 

“Don’t cry maman, try not to think of that cruel 
war. I know it is hard, but you were not alone in 
your bereavements, for nearly all Southern women 
passed through the same fire. I do not wonder you 
hate the Yankee and the North, for your sorrows have 


54 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


been bitter enough to freeze up all thoughts of forgive- 
ness, which your kind heart might prompt. I will not 
speak of Viva’s Yankee friend again if you feel so re- 
bellious toward him and his countrymen. But I still 
contend that it is scarcely fair of Frank to dislike him, 
individually, for the faults of his nation.” 

“But let us not talk of Mr. Bruce, nor his Yankee 
compatriots any more, or of the war and its horrors, 
but come into the garden maman . It is such a lovely 
bright morning. The thunderstorm of yesterday has 
cleared the atmosphere and made everything so sweet 
and fresh.” 

And thus the gentle girl with her gray haired benefac- 
tress leaning fondly on her arm, together left the house, 
and passed into the garden where they took a seat under 
one of the veteran orange trees, with its showers of 
sweet petals making the air rich with their potent fra- 
grance. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

BURYING THE TRADITIONAL HATCHET. 

A fresh, cool evening in early spring. Just such an 
evening as to make one court the fireside, and in a 
dreamy, care forgetting way, trace long forgotten faces 
in the red coals, or recall incidents of the past over 
which the curtain of forgetfulness has long since been 
drawn. 

What a delightful, restful time of day is the gloam- 
ing. All things are then so calm and peaceful, that we 
seem lifted above the petty cares and trivialities, which 
make up the daily routine of ever recurring incidents* 


BURYING THE TRADITIONAL HATCHET. 


55 


Old Madame Orlando sat with folded hands peace- 
fully resting in her lap, and sweetly smiling at the 
dream-faces she saw in the glowing embers between 
the bars of the grate, contentedly listening to Lucia 
who was seated at the piano, softly playing a reverie. 

She too seemed to be in dreamland, for there was a 
far away look in her brown eyes, while a smile lingered 
about her mouth and caressingly touched the corners 
of her lips. A soft expectant look was on her beauti- 
ful face, and happiness beamed from every perfect 
feature. 

She gave a decided start, as the door bell rang, then 
resumed her seat and tried to look unconcerned. 

Madame Orlando too heard the ring, and with a 
furtive glance from out her black eyes, said, “ There is 
the widower Lucia,” and at that moment Mr. Bruce 
was announced. Of course the crimson tide of rosy 
blushes rippled and flowed over neck and brow, of the 
young girl, adding to her confusion ; and as he thought 
— to her beauty too. 

Mr. Bruce had become a frequent visitor to the house 
on St. Charles Avenue, since the night of the “ ger- 
man” when Viva introduced him to Lucia and Frank. 

Madame Orlando had buried the traditional hatchet, 
evidently, or else she made Robert Bruce an exception 
to her prejudices against the North and Northerners, 
for the little lady seemed to enjoy his visits almost as 
much as Lucia did. 

He certainly was a most agreeable gentleman, and 
possessed the happy faculty of making himself exceed- 
ingly entertaining. 

Even the old Doctor enjoyed a little chat with 
“ the Yankee” when he was disposed to emerge from 
his chrysalis condition in the surgery. He loved to 


56 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


hear the younger man talk of his travels, and the 
many wonders of the universe he seemed to have 
come upon in his wanderings. For the good old 
Doctor was no exception to his class, who seldom go 
beyond the boundary lines of their own State. 

Creoles rarely travel ; hence they cling to old tradi- 
tions and customs. The present generation being but 
a reflex of the past. 

Seemingly, the only one who harbored malice against 
the handsome genial stranger, was Frank, who was 
blindly jealous, and conceded to him no good quali- 
ties. 

He complained bitterly to his mother of the fre- 
quency of Bruce’s visits, and said 44 he would no longer 
come to see her if he must encounter that 4 confounded 
Yankee’ every time he came home, but would stay 
down town, and spend all his evenings in his rooms at 
the back of the office.” 

Dr. Anatol laughed at this threat 44 to be lonely,” for 
he said, 44 Why, Frank, I frequently look you up when I 
find myself in your neighborhood, but am always told 
by your servant that you are gone out. Where do you 
go so continually, for you are never at your rooms after 
office hours ? ” 

44 Oh ! various places,” answered Frank indifferently, 
but took good care not to speak of Aline, nor of the 
comfortable little home where he was so welcome and 
so necessary too. 

Madame Orlando loved her younger son dearly, 
and was grieved that he would persist in despising Mr. 
Bruce whom she rather liked, and had no valid excuse 
for denying him the house, as Frank wished her to do. 

She was always in mortal terror least Francois should 
come in during these visits, for she knew he would 


BURYING THE TRADITIONAL HATCHET. 


57 


scarcely be polite to her guest. But what could she 
do ? She had no excuse for being severe or disagree- 
able to Mr. Bruce, nor did she want Frangois to feel 
that his home-coming was not as happy nor as satisfac- 
tory as formerly. 

She felt that her favorite son was changed since the 
night of the dance, but in what particular, she could 
not determine. She also fancied that Lucia avoided 
him when he was there, but of that , she was scarcely 
sure, and said to herself : “ I will ask the dear girl to 
explain this the first time we are quietly exchanging 
our little confidences.” She felt sure that Frank loved 
Lucia, and would some day make her his wife, and that 
it was his great love for her that made him jealous 
and sometimes morose. 

A little later — after Mr. Bruce had gone — while she 
and Lucia were seated beside the fire for a little final 
chat before retiring for the night, Madame Orlando 
said, “Frangois has not been to see us so frequently 
as of yore, and he does not seem so bright and cheer- 
ful as he used to be. Have you and he had any little 
misunderstanding Lucia? ” 

“ No maman , Frank and I are as good friends as ever. 
You know I have not been at home of late when he 
has come to spend an evening with you, and have thus 
missed his visits.” But she did not add that she had 
gone out more frequently, hoping thus to avoid him 
and also to avoid a repetition of the scene on the ve- 
randa when he came so near asking her to be his wife. 
For she still felt that she did not love him sufficiently well 
to marry him, but disliked very much to tell him so, for 
she knew how severe the blow would be to him ; for he 
had always spoken of their future as one , and felt, too, 
that she ought not disappoint his dear old parents, who 


58 


A BLONDE CKEOLE. 


had been so kind and loving to her, and who already 
looked upon her as a daughter. 

So she put off the evil day as long as possible, and 
tried not to think of her future, nor of the marriage, so 
unlike most young girls, who live in Chateaux en Es- 
; pagne of which they are chatelaines. 

“ You know ma fille” the little lady continued, 
“ that Frank loves you very much, and is only waiting 
till he is made a full partner in the firm — when his in- 
come will be much larger — to ask you to marry him. 
He is very unhappy that he cannot do so at once ; and 
is much concerned, too, about Mr. Bruce who he thinks 
should not come here so frequently, or you might lose 
your heart to him. Of course, these fears are ground- 
less,” and the elder lady smiled most confidently — 
continuing, “ But he is like all young lovers — and old 
ones too, for that matter— jealous ; dreadfully jealous ; 
and fancies you are bctqnd to fall in love with 4 that 
Yankee ’ before he hasAhe opportunity of asking your 
heart and hand for himself. I tried to assure him that 
Mr. Bruce had never spoken a word of love to you, but 
the silly boy told me ‘that I didn’t know.’ Was I not 
right?” 

“ Yes maman , you are right ; Mr. Bruce has never 
said one word to me that I could construe into any- 
thing save the merest friendship.” 

And with eyes half closed the girl sat gazing into 
the fire, and the thought that Robert Bruce, gentle and 
kind as a friend, might make a warm, ardent lover, 
filled her with a keen pleasure, as his handsome face 
and noble bearing rose up majestically before her 
dreamy vision. She breathed a troubled little sigh, at 
the thought that all his pleasantries and elegance of 


BURYING THE TRADITIONAL HATCHET. 59 

manner must be given to another, since she was to be 
kept for Frank. 

While thinking this, something in her heart rebelled, 
and she felt that she must not go before God’s altar 
and promise to love only him, for she knew hers was 
but a sister’s love. Nothing more tender did she feel 
for the handsome, dark eyed young man, who had been 
as a brother to her all his life. 

But with Robert Bruce she felt it to be different. 
She loved to dwell on his memory, to watch for his 
coming in the twilight, to sing the songs he liked, to 
wear the dresses he admired, to listen to his voice, even 
though he spoke to another. She loved to steal away 
by herself and think of him ; yet she knew he could 
never be more to her than a friend, for she must not 
disappoint the dear old Doctor and his good wife by re- 
fusing to be Frank’s wife, for they were so anxious to 
welcome her into their family as a daughter. She 
sighed again, as she got up from her chair, and thought, 
“Perhaps Natalie is right; love for Frank may come 
after marriage.” 

“But I wonder why Robert Bruce asked Viva if I 
was engaged to Frank? Of course I pretty quickly 
told her no, which she already knew. It certainly can- 
not matter to him, if I am or not. I suppose he heard 
of it somewhere, for people are so fond of engaging me 
to Frank, simply because I am a protegee of his parents. 
I wish they would not bother themselves about me.” 
Then kissing the old lady a fond good night, she left 
the room and went up-stairs and to bed, with her brain 
still full of Robert Bruce, and of regrets that he must 
marry some one else, while she must marry Frank. As 
she laid her head to rest on the soft pillow, she com- 
plained aloud, “ Ah me ! I wonder why the laws of life 


60 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


all run so contrary, why can we not shape our own des- 
tiny? I think it would be so much more sensible for 
Frank to marry some one else ! While I — well, I could 
marry some one else too.’’ But who the ‘some one 
else ’ might be, she did not say, only continued, “ He 
must have been very good and kind to his first wife, 
for he is always so gentle and so thoughtful for the 
comforts of others.” 

“ I wonder if he loved her very much ? — he was sure 
to, though — I wonder if she was pretty, and why he 
never speaks of her. But I believe men never do 
speak of their wives after they die, ’’and amidst a con- 
fusion of ideas and thoughts, she dropped off to sleep 
and never opened her eyes again, till the bright morn- 
ing sun was streaming in at the east window. 


CHAPTER IX. 

ALINE’s LETTER TO LUCIA. 

“Viva, I have come to show you the most remark- 
able communication I ever received in all my life. It 
is signed by some one calling herself 4 Aline,’ and she 
says such awful things of Frank, that I am petrified 
with surprise. Here, you can read it for yourself.” 

And thus saying Lucia took from her pocket a letter 
closely written on four sides of ordinary note paper, in 
a small but clear Italian hand. 

“An anonymous letter! That is rare fun,” ex- 
claimed Viva, as with a laugh she received the missive 
from Lucia’s hand. But when she looked into the 
lovely white face upturned to hers, and saw the eyes 
brim-full of tears, and the sensitive lips quivering with 


ALINE’s LETTER TO LUCIA. 


61 


emotion — the laugh died away from her own pretty 
mouth as she said : — 

“ Why Lucia ! how miserable you look ; is it so bad 
as that ? ” 

“ Poor maman , it will break her heart. But read, 
Viva, for I certainly think those charges cannot be 
true. Frank must have some enemy who is working 
to ruin him, and has taken this means of defaming his 
character. Poor old handsome Frank,” said the girl 
with compassion. 

Viva read the letter through to the end. Then with- 
out a word, let it fall to her lap, and blankly gazed into 
Lucia’s face, as though she would read the solution 
there. 

“ Well, what do you think of it, Vi? Surely not 
one word of so base a slander can be true ! Why, 
Frank is the very soul of honor. He would not harm, 
nor impose upon a dog, much less a woman.” 

“ I scarcely know Lu, it reads like truth ; and you 
know Frank is only a man after all, and men are very 
weak, especially where women are concerned.” 

A faint, and sickly horror of the possibility of the 
truth, seized her heart as she took the letter from Viva’s 
lap, and again read its mysterious contents. A vague 
fear, which she dared not shape into words, forced 
themselves upon her conviction as she read : 

New Orleans, April 5th, 1884. 

My Dear Miss Corletti 

At the very beginning of my letter 
must I apologize for its writing, and the mortification 
and grief which its disclosures are sure to bring upon 
you and your foster-parents. I would gladly keep these 
facts longer a secret, were I and mine only,, concerned ; 
but our happiness is no longer a consideration ; and as 


62 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


your future well-being depends entirely upon your 
knowledge of these facts, I consider it my bounden 
duty to apprize you of them, that you may not walk 
blindly into the pit being dug for your trusting foot- 
steps. 

I am told that you are engaged to be married to 
Frangois Orlando. This vnust not be. Don’t start ! 
But I repeat — it must not be. For he is mine , and the 
father of my child. 

I have been his wife in all, save name, for the past 
three years, and he has promised from time to time to 
marry me, and make wrong right, as far as it in his 
power lay, and to restore me to my family and commun- 
ion with the Holy Catholic Church. But recently he 
has refused to legally make me his wife, and I now 
know, it is because he wishes to marry you. 

If you are the kind, tender-hearted young lady that 
Frank has always told me you are, you will consider 
my great love and prior claim to him, and leave him to 
me and our poor little hapless boy. 

Think, if only for a moment, dear Miss Corletti, of 
my position and humiliation, the sorrow and mortifica- 
tion which my confidence has forced upon me, and of 
my dear little babe who is the unconscious result of my 
blind love and passion for its father. 

Contrast my opportunities with yours, who are free 
to go where you please, to be loved and wooed by hon- 
orable men, and who possess the confidence and respect 
of your friends and family, whilst I am an outcast 
from all, daring not even to call myself by my own 
name ; and all this for love of the man whom — I am 
told — you are intending to marry. You cannot love 
him as entirely as I, who made every sacrifice for him. 
I have nothing left me now but my child and his love. 
Do not rob me of this, or my heart will certainly break, 
for I cannot live and know him to be the husband of 
another. 

Our little home had been so peaceful and quiet, and 
our love so contented and supreme until he saw your 
pretty face, which drew his heart from his child and 
me. 


ALINE’s LETTER TO LUCIA. 


63 


I have told him that his neglect of me and our home 
is the result of his new passion for you, and he does not 
deny it. 

But now, his coming is only a renewal of the many 
quarrels which daily take place between us. I have 
told him that should he attempt to marry you, or any 
other woman while I live, that I will go to the Church 
with my baby in my arms, and there forbid the bans, 
and proclaim him its father. 

This is no idle threat. My life is now so miserable, 
and my future so insecure that I shall be driven to des- 
peration, and resort to any means rather than see my 
love, my all, the man I worship — almost as my God — 
the husband of another. 

I am sorry that I have been forced by my misery into 
this writing. I do not wish to harm you, and now give 
you a chance to save yourself from the results and 
scandal, which your attempt at marriage with my hus- 
band will occasion. 

’Tis said that a woman’s sorrows make her selfish and 
regardless of the sufferings of others. But I do not 
believe it ; for I would not willingly inflict my present 
agony of mind, nor cruel heart-aches, upon another for 
all the world contains. 

But I cannot give up Frank and his love without a 
supreme effort, and now plead with you to leave me 
his love — the love of the man who is dearer to me than 
! life itself, and for whom I have renounced all a woman 
I holds dear, honor, home, family and friends. 

I now make a final appeal that you will not marry 
the man who asks you to be his wife, and who has 
, made such sacred promises to me. 

“ Aline.” 

When Lucia had read this letter through to the very 
[ signature, she refolded and placed it in the envelope ; 

, then looking into Viva’s sympathetic face, burst into 
tears. 

Viva put her arms around her young friend and 
drawing her head down on her shoulder, let her weep 


64 A BLONDE CEEOLE. 

for some time ; all the while stroking her sunny tresses 
as though the very act must give her comfort ; for she 
scarcely knew what to say. 

When Lucia had relieved her pent up feelings in 
this storm of tears, and could command her voice suf- 
ficiently to speak, she said, “Viva, what am I to do? 
I feel as though I could never look Frank in the face 
again.” 

“ Have you told the Doctor or Madame Orlando of 
the receipt of this letter?” 

“No Vi, I had not courage to heap so much misery 
upon them ; for, should it prove true, it will break 
their hearts. They are so fond of Frank, and believe 
him to be the very soul of honor.” 

“ It is such a serious matter, Lu, that I scarcely know 
what to advise. But think you had better wait a few 
days : perhaps this Aline may write to the Doctor or 
his wife herself, and thus relieve you from the ne- 
cessity of being the bearer of such disagreeable in- 
formation.” 

“ Perhaps so. But poor Aline, how my heart aches 
for her. I wonder how she can love the man who has 
wrought her such misery and degradation ; I should 
hate him. I fancied that love must be built upon the 
firm foundation of respect and esteem, to prove a last- 
ing structure, one that might not be demolished by the 
winds of adversity ; but this woman’s love must be a 
scourge as well as a madness. ‘Virtue is its own re- 
ward,’ so I suppose on the same principle ‘ Sin is its 
own punishment,’ and that she now writhes under the 
tortures of its lash.” 

Thus disburdening herself of a new philosophy, Lu- 
cia tied on the hat she had thrown off in her distress, 
and prepared to return home. 


ALINE’S LETTER TO LUCIA. 


65 


At the door Viva said, 44 Don’t let Frank’s treachery 
and Aline’s misery make you forget my little dinner 
party to-morrow night Lu, or Robert Bruce will be as 
disappointed as I shall.” 

At the mention of this name, Lucia looked confused, 
and held her head down to conceal the blushes that she 
knew were dyeing her cheeks crimson and said, 44 Well, 
just now I don’t feel that I should be very brilliant 
company for any one. This new trouble has taken all 
the life out of me. By-the-by, Vi, how long has it been 
since Mr. Bruce lost his wife ? ” 

“I don’t know Lu, but several years I think. He 
never speaks of her himself, so you know we could not 
well broach the subject, and ask him the direct ques- 
tion. Besides, we are not very much interested in the 
date.” And with a roguish laugh in her blue eyes she 
asked, 44 Are you ? ” 

“No, you know I am not Viva, only I fancied she 
must be dead a long time, for he wears no mourning, 
not even a band on his hat.” 

Then kissing her friend 4 good-bye,’ Lucy walked out 
into the bright spring sunshine and home, with her 
brain reduced to chaos ; through the dense darkness of 
which she could see only faint shadows of Robert 
Bruce and his dead wife, and of Frank and Aline, with 
their unfortunate little boy gazing up at her with sad 
reproachful eyes. 

5 


66 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


CHAPTER X. 

REJECTED AND SCORNED. 

Lucia opened the gate, and walked up the long 
white shelled path, between fragrant roses of many 
colors, and jessamine that were shedding their snowy, 
perfumed petals upon the ground-ivy and humbler 
neighbors of the garden, in a dreamy, abstracted mood. 
Ah! “what a thing of beauty” was that luxurious" 
old garden, with its wealth of tangled creepers and 
vines everywhere ; its floral loveliness, its potent fra- 
grance, and drowsy shade, giving one an exquisite 
sense of peace and rest. The great catalpa trees, and 
stately “ Chinas ” with their heavy clusters of lilac 
blossoms, rivalling the orange in excess of fragrance ; 
all making a picture of sunshine and shadow, that 
would have been indelibly impressed upon the mind of 
a stranger to this latitude. 

But the young girl who came up the path with eyes 
bent so intently upon the ground, was so accustomed 
to the wild, luxurious beauties of this sub-tropical 
climate, that their bloom and fragrance were passed 
unheeded. 

She started, as the voice of Madame Orlando — 
standing at the end of the gallery, framed in by the 
dark green of the sweet honeysuckle and other creep- 
ers, and whom she had not before observed — broke in 
upon her revery and said — 

“How weary you look ma fille ; the sun has been 
too hot for you this morning. Could you not have sent 


REJECTED AND SCORNED. 


67 


your message to Viva in a note ? Iam sure you will 
have a headache ; your face is so white, and your eyes 
so bright. Do you feel ill dear? ” 

“No maman, I am quite well thanks. The sun is 
hot to-day, and I am a little tired, that is all.” 

“ Well dear, go bathe your head, and lie down for a 
little while; you may then feel better. But I have 
received a telephone from Francois, he is coming up 
this evening to dine with us,” and the old lady bright- 
ened at the prospect of an evening with her boy. 

Lucia gave a slight gasp at this, which did not es- 
cape Madame Orlando’s quick eyes. But she spoke 
not a word, and in a pre-occupied manner the anxious 
girl passed into the house, and up-stairs to her own 
room. 

She turned the key in the door, took off her street 
dress and laid down on her little white bed to think. 
But the quiet droning of the sleepy old flies, as they 
slowly and monotonously swarm about in mid-air, and 
the potent sway of the heavy fragrance wafted in at 
the open window from the garden below, was all too 
much for the weary girl, and presently she fell into a 
sound refreshing sleep. 

When she awoke, she saw by the long slanting shad- 
ows of the setting sun, that she had slept longer than 
she had intended, and at once got up and dressed for 
dinner. 

As she descended the stairs, Frank’s voice reached 
her from the surgery where he was talking to his father. 
She went in and shook hands with him, then passed 
into the drawing-room where she sat down to the piano, 
and played till dinner was announced. 

Frank sat opposite her at table, and she tried not to 
look, at him for fear he should read the secret of Aliue’s 


68 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


letter in her confusion. But he evidently suspected 
nothing, for he was very gay and bright, and kept his 
old parents in continual laughter at his droll jokes. 

Lucia fancied she detected a nervousness about him, 
an effort to be gay which was a little in excess of his 
disposition, and found it very hard to laugh with him, 
for she was thinking of the poor lonely woman who was 
breaking her heart for love of him, and whose letter 
she could even now feel in the pocket of the dress she 
wore. 

Once or twice she thought that Madame Orlando 
looked at her with a searching gaze, as though she 
would understand why she did not enter more heartily 
into the general mirth. 

Then she tried to forget Aline, or believe her letter 
altogether an imposition and strove to be gay. But 
she felt the attempt to be a miserable failure, and was 
glad when dinner was over, and they all retired to the 
other room. 

Lucia was very unhappy, and scarcely knew whether 
to obey the dictates of her inclination and beg 
to retire, to her own room, on the plea of not feeling 
well, or remain and try to get used to talking to Frank 
as though she did not know the secret of his life. 

As she turned and saw Frank, who was leaning with 
a nonchalant air on a prie-dieu , talking to his mother, 
she thought, “ Can it be possible that such a handsome, 
noble form can conceal a soul so base, so full of deceit, 
as I am forced to believe his to be ? When he told 
me he loved me above all others, and so nearly asked 
me to marry him, did he not think of this poor sinning 
woman who is pleading with him to save her from the 
life she is living, by making her his wife indeed ? Surely 
he must have, for her home has been his, these past 


REJECTED AND SCORNED. 


69 


three years, according to her letter, and a man’s mem- 
ory is not so short that he forgets such ties in a month 
or two ! ” 

“ I almost feel that I hate him, for his conduct to that 
helpless woman and her poor little child.” 

While the others were laughing and talking, Lucia 
left the room, and as she passed through the hall, took 
up a small wrap which she put around her shoulders 
and went into the garden. 

She walked through the winding paths several times, 
gazing up at the clear white moon, and thought how 
little its brightness was affected by human cares and 
sufferings, and wondered why some must carry a greater 
load of misery than others, and why the good things 
of life could not be more evenly distributed. 

Presently she found herself opposite a little arbor, 
at the very extremity of the grounds, almost lost in 
the confusion of cherokee rose and climbing jessa- 
mine. 

Still deep in thought, she dropped on to one of its 
seats, directly in front of the opening, where the clear 
serene rays of the tropical moon fell aslant her earn- 
est face, and enveloped the graceful, white clad figure 
in a sea of silver beams. 

How long she sat there with her heart and brain 
steeped in the sorrows and misfortunes of others, she 
knew not ; but was recalled to consciousness by the 
breaking of a twig under an approaching footstep, and 
the voice of Frank who said, “ Well truant, why are 
you hiding here? Are you not afraid of snakes? 
These long tangled grasses, and coils of rank creepers, 
are just the places for harboring their snakeships.” 

“ No, I am not. There is much I fear more than 
snakes.” 


70 


A BLONDE CKEOLE. 


“ Indeed ! may I ask what it is? ” 

“ The treachery and deceit of man.” 

“ That is rather a mythical subject for you to declaim 
upon ; pray what do you know of their treachery and 
deceit ? ” he laughingly questioned as he took a seat 
beside her. 

“ Only the beginning of the lesson, thank Heaven. 
My knowledge is all gained through the experience and 
sufferings of others.” 

“ You seem depressed to-night Lucia. Cheer up little 
sister ; I am come to bid you good b}^e for a short time, 
and must not take the memory of a sad face — although 
it be a very lovely one — away with me.” 

“ Going away ! where to ? ” she asked with some 
surprise. “ How long will you be gone? ” 

“To Memphis, on some business connected with the 
firm, but I shall only be gone two weeks,” he answered, 
apparently pleased at her interest. 

Then he drew a little nearer her and asked in a low 
tone. “ Will you miss me Lucia? ” 

“ I scarcely think I shall, you know I do not see you 
very frequently of late. And one seldom misses a 
friend very much, unless it be from the immediate home 
circle.” 

“ Whose fault is it that you have not seen much of 
me ? When I have come home you are either out, or 
engaged with your Yankee friend and have not time to 
bestow a word upon me, who have never ceased to 
think of and care for you, ever since you first came to 
gladden our home, a sunny haired little girl ten or 
eleven years ago. Now you are willing to throw me 
over for a fellow you have known but three months. 
I call that hard Lucia, for you know I love you with 


REJECTED AND SCORNED. 71 

all my soul, and shall never be happy without your 
love, or your promise that — *’ 

She put up her hand to stop the flow of words wfliich 
poured from his lips, and drew herself away from the 
arm which he endeavored to place around her. 

But he heeded not her gestures, and only continued 
in a low concentrated tone, while his hands grew cold 
as death, with intensity of passion, and his temples 
throbbed and burned as though they would burst. 

“ Yes, I love you Lucia with all the strength of my 
nature, with every impulse of my soul, with all the 
ardor of my passionate, impetuous heart. I love you 
my beautiful darling.” 

Lucia put her two trembling hands up to her burn- 
ing face, and tried to shut out the torrent of words 
that were only an insult to her, but Frank seemed 
drunk with the wild delirium of his own passion, and in 
a voice that had become almost a wail, continued. 

“ Life without you would be but half an existence. 
You are mine by every law of the heart, and must be 
mine by every other law. I know but one religion, 
and that is my great love for you. My heart has but 
one desire and that desire is for you. My brain refuses 
to take in aught else, than that I love you, I love 
you. You must be mine, my darling. Say that you will 
marry me, and I shall be the happiest man that lives. 
Do not say me ‘ nay ’ Lucia, or 1 shall put a pistol to 
my brain and shoot myself dead.” 

During the weird silence that enveloped them for a 
moment in which “ the beating of their own hearts was 
all the sound they heard,” he raised his eyes to hers, 
and in their calm contempt, he read his mistake. 

Her lovely, indignant face was like marble in the pale 
clear light of the moon, while her hair glittered in its 


72 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


beams like a crown of antique gold. Her large chest- 
nut eyes, always dreamy and tender, now flashed and 
scintillated with scathing scorn. 

She drew herself up with a gesture that made her 
seem taller in her pride and injured dignity, and with 
her head well thrown back looked him full in the eyes, 
and said in a voice made low by excessive disdain, but 
as clear as the tones of a silver flute. 

“You dare tell me you love me. You! who know 
nought but selfishness, dishonor, deceit ? you, to whom 
I have always looked for protection. You, who called 
me little sister, dare profane the sacred trust by hoping 
to drag my name — a name fully as good and noble as 
your own — through the mire of dishonor and a mar- 
riage of perjury? Love! to call your base, selfish pas- 
sion love, is to pollute the sacred name, ’ tis a sacrilege.” 

Then dropping her face in her hands she moaned, 
“ Oh ! how I have been deceived in this man whom I 
called friend and brother, and thought so nobly grand. 
Ah ! his poor old father and mother who are so proud 
of him — I can scarcely believe it myself. And to say 
these words to me — me ! ” 

She moaned and shivered in the sickly rays of the 
moon like one stricken with a fell disease. 

Then raising her dry, horror stricken eyes to his she 
went on, “ I suppose this is the manner in which you 
wooed poor unfortunate Aline, and are now wil- 
ling to forsake her to the consequences of the sin you 
have dragged her into ” 

“Aline! good God Lucia, what do you know of 
Aline ? ” he exclaimed, while a look of intense .terror 
seemed freezing upon his face, now bloodless and 
white. 

“ Only what this, her letter, tells me.” 


REJECTED AND SCORNED. 


73 


“ Her letter? ” he fiercely demanded, the very words 
choking him ; and then the excited man snatched the 
envelope from her extended hand and tearing it open, 
stepped into the clear white light of the moon, and 
with his heart beating to suffocation, read the letter to 
the very end. 

For an instant he was as one struck dead, then 
crushing it in his cold hand, and quivering like a 
baffled tiger he muttered under his breath, “ Fiend ! 
Devil incarnate ! You shall pay for this,” and with 
long rapid strides, heedless of where his feet were 
planted, passed through the garden and out at the 
gate. 

For awhile Lucia’s emotions were so strong that she 
swayed to and fro and nearly fainted, but with a 
strong effort she mastered herself, and dropped into a 
seat. But she was so dazed with this intensely excit- 
ing interview, which she had come out here to avoid, 
that she could not even think. 

For a long while she sat wringing her icy hands and 
moaning piteously. The cold evening air, and the in- 
tensity of her emotions made her shiver and tremble 
like an aspin. 

She knew she could not stay there all night, but 
dreaded to again encounter Frank and the keen 
black eyes of her foster mother, whom she felt might 
read the secret — not entirely her own — in her white 
face, and tremulous voice. 

Then remembering that she had heard the click of 
the gate latch as it fell to on its hinges after Frank 
had left her, and that he was gone— she rose, and with 
her long white garments trailing after her, like foam 
crested wavelets that are softly and gently rolled to 


74 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


the shore, and looking more like spirit than mortal — 
passed through the grounds and entered the house. 

At the drawing-room door she paused a moment to 
command her features, then went in to bid the Doctor 
and his wife good night. 

Upon seeing her, Madame exclaimed, “Why Lucia, 
where upon earth have you been. Frank looked 
everywhere to bid you good-bye. Did you see him? ” 

“ Yes, maman ,” she answered; but something unnat- 
ural in her voice made the old lady turn round and 
look more fully at her. Then with concern she said, 
“ Lucia, you are ill? Come here and let the Doctor feel 
your pulse. Your face is deadly white, while your 
eyes have a feverish glitter in them. I am sure you 
are going to be ill.” 

“ No, no, ch'ere maman , I am only tired and will now 
bid you good night and go to bed.” 

After she had left the room Madame Orlando re- 
marked to her husband, “ I don’t know what has come 
to our pet lately, she is no longer her own bright self. 
I wonder if she and Francois have had any little Mov- 
ers quarrel,’ or misunderstanding, for I fancy she avoids 
him lately.” 

“Tut, tut,” disdainfully replied the quiet old Doc- 
tor. ’’You ladies ascribe all the ills that woman is heir 
to, to affairs de cceur. Francois and Lucia are too se- 
cure in each others affections to trouble themselves 
with ‘ lovers quarrels,’ simply for the pleasure of mak- 
ing it up again.” 

Madame Orlando did not dispute this bit of mascu- 
line philosophy. But she had her own opinion on the 
subject, and preferred to keep silence, and await the un- 
folding of events. 


CAST ADRIFT. 


75 


CHAPTER XI. 

CAST ADRIFT. 

Writhing under the lash of Lucia’s scorn that cut 
like whipcords into his sensitive nature, and from 
which he cringingly shrank — culpable though he was 
— and in a frenzy of anger that Aline had dared exe- 
cute her oft repeated threat ; Frank Orlando tore 
through the garden gate, and down the avenue, as 
though he were impelled by some mysterious power. 

He rushed on in his mad course, neither taking notice 
of pedestrians nor passing vehicles, still clenching 
Aline’s letter in his hand, to which he ascribed all his 
present misery and Lucia’s rejection of him, and curs- 
ing the fatal day on which he first looked upon Aline’s 
fascinating face. 

As he drew near the house that had been a happy 
home to him whenever he had been pleased to seek its 
friendly shelter, he saw a light gleaming from the win- 
dow, and knew that the mother of his child had not 
yet gone to bed. 

He gave a loud prolonged peal at the bell which 
made Aline, (who had been reading in the lonely quiet, 
and stillness of the night) give a smothered scream, 
and start from her chair. 

In a few seconds the bell pealed forth again. Taking 
up the lamp by which she had been reading, Aline 
went to the door, and with bated breath called : — 

“ Who is there ? ” 

“ ’Tis I, open the door,” spoke the voice of Frank. 


76 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


With a glad little cry the bolts were instantly 
drawn, the key turned in the lock, and the door 
opened wide to receive its master and welcome guest ! 

As he entered Aline exclaimed, “ I am so glad ” and 
put up her face to receive the accustomed caress. But 
with a rough gesture, Frank put her aside and strode 
into the room, then taking off his hat threw it onto a 
chair. With a fine cambric handkerchief — in the cor- 
ner of which was his monogram embroidered by Aline’s 
deft fingers, he wiped great beads of cold perspiration 
from his brow and face. 

“ Why are you not in bed at this time of night 
Aline ? ” He asked savagely. 

“I did not feel sleepy, and thought I would sit up 
and finish my book.” 

“ And write more damnable letters I suppose,” he 
sarcastically demanded : while his face blanched with 
the fierce wild passion he was striving to control, and 
his voice trembling so that he could scarcely speak. 

Aline looked into his white face for a moment, every 
feature of which was working convulsively. His 
keen black eyes seemed to emit sparks of fire, so in- 
tensely excited was he, while his breath came hard and 
fast. 

She appeared to take the contagion from him, for 
she trembled and turned deadly white. Then a sick- 
ening fear stole over her as she awaited the bursting of 
the storm, that she now knew was inevitable, and 
which she had hoped would be averted ; at any rate, 
till after his return from Memphis. 

She had harbored a hope that Lucia would refuse 
him, and yet not tell him the reason, nor even of the 
existence of the letter. 

But she knew it was all out now, and trembled for 


CAST ADBIFT. 


77 


the consequences. But like him, she was reckless with 
passion, and in her despair braced herself for the try- 
ing ordeal which she now saw must come. 

Frank laid the letter, which was crumpled into a 
thousand creases, upon the table, and with his hands 
smoothed it out before the eyes of the defiant woman, 
who stood majestically before him looking like a prin- 
cess, in her imperious beauty and anger. 

“ This ” — striking the letter with the back of his 
open hand — “is the result of your treachery, your in- 
gratitude. Can you deny the handwriting?” 

“No, Frank, nor do I wish to deny it. But I do re- 
fute the charge of treachery. I told you many times, 
that unless you gave up this woman, or assured me 
that you would not marry her — I should write and tell 
her what you are to me and our child. You have 
already sinned against me and our holy Church, and 
I shall not let you sin more deeply by making vows to 
another before God’s Altar, while those you swore to 
me, yet remain unfulfilled. And as to the question of 
ingratitude ” — here a scornful smile lifted the corners 
of her full red lips — “ It should be an unknown quality 
between us, and its existence altogether ignored.” 

“ I think the obligations and advantages have been 
pretty equally divided,” she went on, “But as is always 
the case, the disadvantages, the stigma, the shame, the 
ostracism, the blight, all fall upon me the woman, who 
is less strong to bear them.” 

“ True, you have given me this pretty little home” — 
and here she swept her great grey eyes affectionately 
around the well appointed room — “ but you too have 
shared its comforts, its happiness. You furnished 
the elements that made it a house , while I supplied 
those which made it a home. You took me from one 


78 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


as good as this, then why should I evince gratitude for 
it?” 

“ But Francois I have been grateful for your love ” — 
and here her voice grew tremulous with emotion and 
her eyes filled with tears — “ and have returned it an 
hundred fold. I still love you with all my soul, and 
know no sacrifice too great for me to make in order to 
keep your love. Love such as was ours before this girl’s 
pretty face came between us and weaned your heart 
from me. But now, we seem to know no love, it is all 
jealousy, all strife, all misery, all — ” 

“ There, stop Aline. You have said enough, I want 
no more ranting. And he raised his hand as though he 
would ward off the words, which flowed so rapidly from 
her lips.” By your mad jealousy you have dragged 
down this structure and must suffer the consequences. 
I told you that you might keep this house, and I would 
make an allowance for you and the child, and that I 
would come occasionlly to see you and him; but that I 
was determined to marry Lucia at all costs. Or that 
you might close up here, and return to your mother, 
and f would still give you the allowance ; but you were 
not satisfied with either of these plans, and in your 
frantic jealousy must go and disclose all in this ac- 
cursed letter. I suppose by this time the old people 
know all about it, and are weeping and wailing in de- 
spair at my folly. Have I not always demanded that 
you keep your very existence from the knowledge of 
my people ? And now you make all the disclosures 
you can. Well so be it. This letter has been as the 
signing of your death warrant.” 

“ From to-night,” he continued, “ I shall never 
again enter this house, nor willingly look upon your 
false face. Your future you have taken into your own 


CAST ADRIFT. 


79 


keeping, and I am relieved of all responsibility. You 
have been pleased to act in direct opposition to my 
wishes, and now must be responsible for your own 
future. Were you bereft of all common sense, all 
judgment, when you told Lucia of the boy? Could 
you not see the fatal consequences to yourself and him 
which must follow this knowledge, and that I could 
no longer live here with you if this thing were known. 
Can you not see what a fool you have been ? Well 
then know that your folly has driven me from you,” 
he paused only for a moment then went on. 

“ To-morrow, as you know, I am going away. On 
my return to the city I shall take up my quarters in 
my old rooms, where my family have supposed I always 
live, and will never again set foot in this accursed house . 
You are free from this night. You can go where you 
please, and do as you like. Marry, if you can, and 
want to. I shall not care, nor ask any questions. Only 
be kind to little Frank, for he cannot help this, poor lit- 
j tie beggar that he is.” 

At the mention of her child’s name, and the suspicion 
of sympathy which had crept into his voice, Aline for- 
got her anger and pride, and gave way to a flood of 
passionate weeping. 

With her heart on fire and her brain whirling round, 

| she threw herself at Frank’s feet in mad supplication. 
With her hands tightly clasped, and her shapely arms, 
from which the loose sleeves had fallen back, ex- 
tended imploringly to him, she wailed from the agony 
of her soul, “ Frank, Frank do not leave me, do not de- 
sert me. Think of our helpless little baby, Frank, and 
forgive me, his unhappy mother. Oh, my heart will 
burst with its great weight of anguish. I cannot live 
away from you now after all these years of perfect 


80 


A BLONDE CEEOLE. 


peace and love. Ours has been such a happy past, 
Frank. A true union of souls, a daily, hourly love, 
and until the present, full of a peaceful confidence.” 

“ Forget the present, my darling, and be to me as you 
always were, my noble, kind hearted, Frank. I have 
ever been a faithful, true wife to you Frank, and needed 
no tie to keep me from wandering. I only ask that 
you marry me for the sake of our child on whom 
the blight falls. While we have had all the happiness, 
he will have all the stigma. I cannot lose you my 
darling. I cannot live and know you are the husband 
of another. If you will only be to me in the future 
what you have been in the past, I will go to Lucia 
and tell her, ‘not one word of that letter is true, 
that I was beside myself and knew not of what 
I wrote. See dear, we have the letter she has no 
proof — ” 

“ Fool that you are ” — vociferated Frank, “ Do you 
think by a few weak words to undo the work which 
your mad folly has wrought. No, ’tis too late. Your 
insane jealousy has recoiled upon yourself. Get up, 
and accept the consequences,” and he seized her tightly 
clasped hands in his own — which yet trembled with 
passion — and raised her to her feet. 

Then turning upon him eyes from which flashed 
jealousy, intense love, and — for the moment — supreme 
hatred, said, “ If you will not marry me — I swear you 
shall not marry another woman, or I will kill her on 
your wedding day, if I have to traverse the round 
world to compass it.” 

Aline, in spite of this threat, was not all bad. She 
had many noble traits of character. Her weakest point 
was her excessive love for handsome Frank Orlando, 
who had beguiled her by soft delusive kisses, until the 



ONLY ASK THAT YOU MARRY ME FOR THE SAKE OF OUR 
CHILD, ON WHOM THE BLIGHT FALLS.” 


Page 80. 




















CAST ADRIFT. 


81 


woman — who ere this knew no sin — had fallen from 
her pure exalted sphere, and learned to find sufficient 
happiness and love, in the extravagant caresses he was 
pleased to deluge her with, and which satisfied her af- 
fectionate heart while she yet thought him true to her, 
and reconciled her to the loss of honor, mother, home, 
and friends. The love of this one man had seemed to 
her a just compensation for all these. 

And now where was she to turn, what to do in this 
her great extremity ? She could not think ; her very 
brain seemed paralyzed. All she could realize was, 
that now all was over between her and Frank, and that 
he had gone from her and his forever. 

How long she sat prone on the floor with her head 
buried in the cushions of a chair, she never knew. But 
when at last, shivering and cold, she looked up, the 
light of the new born day, was struggling to enter 
through the jealousies and curtains of the window, and 
coquetting with the rays of the light from the lamp, 
which still burned on the table, making all things look 
so weirdly strange in the colors of the two contending 
lights. 

Her first thoughts were of her mother. That good 
kind mother who had wept over her, and then forgiven 
her. But not so her sisters. They never mentioned 
her name, nor recognized her existence. Her sin had 
been beyond their pardon. 

She yearned for her mother, but was ashamed to go 
to her. She could not find it in her heart to say that 
she had been deceived. That the man whom she had 
believed more honorable than all others, had proved 
himself made of the same clay, and had used her as a 
plaything for his idle hours, and now that he saw an- 
other whom he thought more desirable to be made his 

a 


82 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


wife, was ready to forget all she had been to him, and 
to cast her off; to cut her adrift on the great, deep sea 
of temptation and sin. 

The fierce storm of passionate tears were now ex- 
hausted. Weak and sick at heart she looked about the 
room and sobbed, “My pretty, pretty home, like my 
love and my life, must too be sacrificed.” 

As she went to the bedside of her sweetly sleeping 
little child, the tears flowed afresh. Folding him to her 
heart she cried, “ I have my darling baby left to me, 
thank God. His pretty dark eyes and black hair — so 
like his father’s, will be a constant reminder of him, 
who will surely return to me and my love some 
da}L But it is the present misery that is so hard to 
bear.” 

“ If I could but return to what I was when Frank 
first knew me, and loved me. All ! I have dropped from 
my pedestal and there is no reinstating me. It is hard 
that he, the man, can still go into society, still be re- 
spected, still go through life as though there was no 
broken heart, no desolated home, no forsaken wife 
and little child ; while I — a poor frail woman, must 
endure the sneers of my sisters and acquaintances, 
or be a wanderer on the face of the earth. If I have 
sinned, has he not been as guilty? Why should the 
punishment fall alone upon me ? ” 

Aline was too practical by nature, to assume the 
role of love-sick maiden now. Her love for Frank 
Orlando had been too real to melt into empty senti- 
ment, and she would have died sooner than say to the 
world, by word, or look, even, “ I have been deceived 
and am now deserted,” and thus claim false, transcient 
sympathy from the curious and disinterested. 

She possessed all the qualities pf a true martyr. 


CAUGHT ON THE REBOUND. 


83 


Courage, patience, determination and self-control. 
These must now serve her instead of the all absorbing 
love which had previously pervaded her whole being, 
and was the incentive to every act of her life. 


CHAPTER XII. 

CAUGHT ON THE REBOUND. 

All through the long hours of the day, Lucia had 
tried to appear gay and happy, lest her dear foster- 
mother should discover her secret. She kept as much 
out of her presence as possible, for fear she might read 
it in her anxious face and languid movements, and 
question her so closely that she would be obliged to 
tell her all. 

“ Have I done right ? ” she asked herself, “Have 
I done right in keeping Aline’s letter a secret, hoping 
that I was warding off a blow which would only bring 
sorrow and disgrace upon those I love ? If this se- 
cret concerned only myself, I would go to dear 
old maman and tell her all. She loves me so dearly 
that I know she would forgive me freely. But this 
is not only my secret. It is Frank’s and Aline’s ; 
and I have no right to betray them, especially when 
such dreadful misery and heartaches will result from 
it.” 

“ Oh, if I only knew what to do ! ” 

“ But how glad I am that I was not engaged to Frank 
when that dreadful letter came ! 

“ Ah, I know now that I do not love him. I think 
I scarcely love him even with a sister’s love, and since 
reading the despair, the desolation in poor Aline’s 


84 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


letter, I almost hate him ; hate him for seeming so fair 
and honorable, while he is so base and wicked. Who 
would believe him capable of such dishonor? ” 

“ I am glad he is going away to-day. Perhaps I 
shall grow accustomed to this state of things before 
his return, and be then able to meet him calmly, and 
perhaps with less contempt written on my face, and 
in my manner.” 

“ And to say that he loves me. Love ! how he has 
profaned the sacred name. It seems that the whole 
world, is composed of one great mass of deceit, falsity 
and untruth ! ” 

“What hypocrites men are? Ah well! the mantle 
of hypocrisy is torn from the shoulders of the wear- 
ers sometimes; as Frank’s was by Aline’s letter last 
night. That letter which I now am convinced is every 
word true, or he would have denied the fearful 
charges that it makes.” 

“ Last night ? Is it possible it was only last night ? 
How long ago it seems. I feel as if I had grown years 
older since then.” 

And so she sat and thought by the open window for 
a long, long time ; her hands nervously playing with 
the petals of a rose she had torn to pieces, and her eyes 
vacantly looking upon the sunny beauties of the land- 
scape, and the delicate tracery of shadows thrown by 
leafy trees upon casement and floor, but with soul and 
senses far, far away. 

All was so beautiful, and brilliant, and still, in the 1 
sweetly scented calm of this ever memorable spring 
day. 

When she entered the drawing-room some time later, 
in a soft clinging dress of white, with a broad satin 
scarf of pink tied carelessly around her waist, and a few 


CAUGHT ON THE REBOUND. 


85 


blush rose-buds nestling in a soft little bed of maiden- 
hair fern, at the open throat of her dress, Madame Or- 
lando exclaimed, “ Why, how charming you look ma 
jille! I am glad you have decided to go to Viva’s 
little dinner-party, it will brighten you up to see 
young company. It is not good for you always to 
have only such dull companions as we two old fogies, 
notwithstanding our great love for you. I am glad 
too, that you have put on a bit of color, you have 
been looking much too pale of late to wear only 
white ; your bright ribbons give you a pretty little 
glow.” 

“Poor Frank!” the sympathetic little mother con- 
tinued, “ It is too bad his business has called him away 
to-day, he would liked to have gone with you so much 
this evening. He is fond of going out with you, Lucia, 
only his business demands so much of his time, that he 
has not many opportunities for pleasure and visiting,” 
and she sighed as though the cares of the nation rested 
upon Frank’s broad shoulders. 

“ I think I shall go now, it is time,” said Lucia. 

“ Yes, chere , would you like me to send one of the 
servants to bring you home ? ” 

“ No, maman, thanks. Viva will see that I have an 
escort. Don’t sit up for me.” Then kissing her hand 
playfully to the old lady, who followed her retreating 
figure with loving eyes, the graceful girl, so dear to this 
kind old couple, was soon lost in the gathering twilight 
of an early spring evening. 

She was the first to arrive, but it was not many min- 
utes before other guests came, and among them, Robert 
Bruce with another gentleman, whom Lucia soon 
learned was His Excellency, the “ Governor of Louisi- 
ana,” 


86 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


This gentleman — the most important personage pres- 
ent — took Viva in to dinner. Lucia was pleased that 
she was allotted to Mr. Bruce, for, as she said to Viva, 
“ I am very miserable and blue this evening, and as he 
is himself a good talker, he will not notice my silence.” 

She thought the table looked very beautiful with its 
wealth of fragrant flowers piled up in a pyramid, sur- 
mounted by lovely arum lilies. 

At each corner a bunch of white lilacs was laid upon 
a square of spring green silk, gathered into the shape 
of large leaves, which threw up the delicate white 
flowers, and prevented their beauty being lost in the 
purity of the immaculate damask. 

It was a pleasant little dinner, not too large for the 
conversation to be general, and after awhile Lucia for- 
got the skeleton in her closet, and laughed quite heartily 
at the sallies of Mr. Jackson and Robert Bruce, the 
latter proving himself a good dinner guest. 

The lights of the many wax candles under fairy-like 
shades of red and pale green silk, made beautiful all 
things, and cast a soft luminous glow over the faces of 
those on whom it fell. As Lucia looked up with the 
laugh still in her soft brown eyes, at something Robert 
Bruce had said to her, that gentleman thought he had 
never seen a more beautiful young girl, and fell a de- 
gree or two deeper in love than he already was, and 
determined to settle his fate that very night. 

When the gentlemen joined the ladies in the draw- 
ing-room, after having drank “ the Governor’s health ” 
in a patriotic little speech, Mr. Jackson proposed that 
they should have a game of euchre. All agreed to this. 
But in pairing off for partners, it was found that there 
was one couple too many. At once Viva suggested 
Jbhat as Lucia was not a good euchre player, she should 


CAUGHT ON THE REBOUND. 


87 


entertain them with some of her sweet music. Bruce 
was delighted at that and said “ he would give his hand 
to some one else, and turn over the music for her.” 

In a little while it was all settled, and the two tables 
deep in the mysteries of “ trump ” and “ bower.” But 
Lucia regaled them with such sweet sounds as to make 
them forget their play and frequently stop to listen to 
her. 

She played well from memory, and read correctly at 
sight ; so she was able to play any of Viva’s music 
which Mr. Bruce set up for her. Many pieces had very 
suggestive titles. These he turned to her with a 
twinkle in his blue eyes, not saying a word, but enjoy- 
ing her blushes and confusion, as she pretended not to 
see them. 

When Lucia was bidding Viva good-bye, Mr. Bruce 
came up at the same time and said, “ Good-night, Mrs. 
Jackson, I must thank you for a most delightful even- 
ing, and by your kind leave — and hers (this with a bow 
to Lucia) I will see Miss Corletti safely home.” 

After they had left the house Mr. Bruce took Lucia’s 
little hand, and drew it through his arm. As he re- 
tained it longer than she thought necessary, she tried 
gently to withdraw her fingers, but he only held them 
more tightly in his clasp. 

After a few minutes of silence — silence dangerous, 
eloquent, even awkward, yet so full of some strange 
mysterious power — he looked down into her pretty 
white face, so like an innocent child’s peeping out of 
the fleecy white wrap she had thrown about her shoul- 
ders and head, and with a sad cadence in his voice, as 
though he were only murmuring his thoughts, said, “ I 
have waded through a sea of trouble-— troubles deep 
#1)4 4 #rk, and until l met you, \yas content to let my 


88 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


life drift on. But since that one happy night last win- 
ter when kind fate took me to your ‘german,’ I have 
felt how lonely my life is, how incomplete, and find I 
must have the companionship of a golden-haired lit- 
tle girl to transform my life, and make me the happy j 
man nature intended that I should be.” 

“ Lucia, I am much older than you are, aye, even 
double your age, but not too old to love you with even 
the strength and ardor of youth. Do you think you 
could learn to love me after awhile? Will you be my 
wife Lucia ? ” 

As she looked up and saw his eager, passionate gaze 
searching down into her very soul, hot blushes dyed 
her cheeks, and she hung her head to conceal them. 
Then stopping still in the midnight loneliness of the 
quiet street, he took her blushing face in his two hands 
and said, “ Look at me Lucia, let me read the an- ] 
swer in your eyes that you are too timid to 
speak.” 

He must have been quite well satisfied with their an- 
swer, for he pressed such kisses upon her brow, cheeks 
and lips, as she had never even dreamed of before in 
her quiet simple life. “ My little darling,” he whis- 
pered, “ you have made me supremely happy, and it 
will now be my sole desire to make your life one con- 
tinuous dream, of perfect love and peace.” 

When they came to the door he said, “ Good-night, 
my beautiful wife. To-morrow I will come and ask » 
the Doctor for this little hand,” which he then raised l 
to his brown moustache, and with another lingering 
kiss on her lips — was gone. 


IN THE STREET. 


89 


CHAPTER XIII. 

IN THE STREET. 

When Lucia entered the drawing-room a few min- 
utes later, she found the Doctor sleeping on the sofa, 
with a large red silk handkerchief spread over his face 
to protect him against the mosquitoes, and Madame Or- 
lando sleeping quietly in an armchair, with the book 
she had been reading beside the “ drop light,” laying 
open on the floor where it had fallen. 

Lucia’s entrance disturbed the little lady, who 
opened her eyes and asked, 

“ Is that you ma fille f ” 

“ Yes, mamcm.” 

“Who came home with you?” 

“Robert Bruce.” 

“ Robert Bruce ? Don’t you think it a little too fa- 
miliar for a young girl to call a gentleman by his Chris- 
tian name, cherie ?” 

“ Not for me mamcm.” 

“ Why not for you, more particularly than any other 
young lady ? ” 

“ Because I am engaged to him.” 

“What Lucia? What did you say? Did I hear 
aright?” she exclaimed, now wide awake. 

“ I have just promised to marry Robert Bruce, and 
he is coming here to-morrow to ask the Doctor’s con- 
sent.” 

As Lucia uttered these words, Madame Orlando 


90 


A BLONDE CBEOLE. 


sprang to her feet, then fell back into her chair as 
though she were shot. 

Lucia was terribly frightened at the white face and 
bloodless lips of her foster-mother, and chafing the cold 
hands cried, “ maman , maman , speak to me, speak to 
your little Lucia.” 

At the sound of the girl’s voice Madame Orlando 
clasped her hands and moaned — “ Francois my poor, 
poor boy, this will break your heart,” and then with 
the tears raining down her wrinkled cheeks, she 
stretched forth her hands imploringly to Lucia, and said, 
“ Tell me this is not true, tell me I did not understand 
aright ? And I must lose you ma file. Lose the little 
girl who has been to me all, but my daughter?” 

The grief of her dear old foster-mother was too much 
for Lucia’s tender heart. She dropped at her feet and 
burying her sunny head in Madame’s lap, cried as 
though her heart would break. 

The emotion and confusion awakened the good old 
Doctor, who snatched the handkerchief off his face, and 
still half asleep, staggered up the long room to where his 
wife and Lucia were still clasped in each other’s arms, 
and weeping bitterly. Seeing their grief he asked ex- 
citedly — “ What is the matter ? Who is dead ? Speak, 
can’t either of you speak and tell me the cause of these 
tears ? ” 

Lucia, feeling herself to be the cause of the unhap- 
piness, had not courage to tell him ; so the old lady 
sobbed out — “Frangois my poor, poor Francois! Lucia 
has ” 

The Doctor did not wait to hear the rest of the sen- 
tence, but concluded at once that some dire misfortune 
had happened to Frank, and in his excited French way 
cried, “ My son, my dear, dear son ! Is he dead ? 


IK THE STREET. 


91 


where ? when ? Did you get a telegram ? Show it to me. 
I must hear the worst at once. Is it so bad that neither 
of you can tell me ? ” he demanded in the same 
breath. 

“ No, no, no,” hastily answered Lucia. “ It is noth- 
ing.” 

“ Nothing ! Then what the devil are you both crying 
for. It is about Frank, I am sure.” 

Madame Orlando seeing her husband’s distress and 
mistake, ceased crying, and said, “No, it is not Frank, 
it is Lucia,” and the tears were nearly mastering her 
voice again. But that young lady only looked up at 
him with the faintest suspicion of a smile in her tear- 
dimmed eyes, then buried her face again in the old 
lady’s lap. 

The Doctor began to despair of ever hearing the cor- 
rect version of this mysterious grief, so asserted — 
“ There does not seem much the matter with Lucia to 
throw you both into such utter grief. What has she 
done ? ” 

“ She is going to be married,” sobbed Madame Or- 
lando between each word. 

“ Going to be married? ” echoed the Doctor raising 
his two hands and head in the air. “ Of course she 
is going to be married, you stupid woman, you 
have known this for several years, or at least have 
wished it, and now that Lucia and Frank are actually 
engaged, you set to and cry, as though it were not the 
I dearest wish of your heart. Come here you little rogue 
l and let me con ” 

“ Hush your nonsense, you stupid old man,” said his 
wife, “ she is not engaged to Frank at all.” 

Now it was the Doctor’s turn to jump from his chair, 
only he retained his senses. Then very slowly de- 


92 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


manded, “ Not engaged to Frank ! Then pray to whom, 
may I ask ? ” 

“To Mr. Bruce.” 

“To Mr. Bruce? why we scarcely know him,” said 
the Doctor with immense surprise. 

“ But I do,” interpolated Lucia as she raised her 
head for a minute from the lap of her old friend, who 
was still caressing her tumbled locks. 

“Get up Lucia, and come tell me where and when 
all this happened,” demanded the Doctor. 

Like a naughty child, blushing and confused, she 
took a seat beside him and said, “ To-night, coming 
home from Viva’s.” 

“ So to-night in the public street, Mr. Bruce proposed 
to you, and you accepted him, I must say it was a 
most unseemly time and place, I expected something 
more comme il faut from a man of his age. And one 
who had been married before, too. Surely he has long 
passed the sentimental age, and cannot hope to be ex- 
cused upon the plea of youthful passion.” 

The Doctor was so incensed at what he was pleased 
to call “Mr. Bruce’s lack of propriety,” that he forgot 
for the minute that it was not to his son that their 
foster-child was engaged. 

But not so the dear old mother. The convention- 
alities of life were not so important to her as to her 
good husband, so she only wailed again, “ My poor 
boy, this will break his heart, how could you be so cruel 
Lucia ? He must not hear of this during his absence 
or he will never live to return. If it dcfes not kill him 
outright, he will drown himself and his sorrows in the 
Mississippi, I know he will.” And the blindly fond little 
mother wept afresh, as her son’s troubles and probable 
suicide recurred to her. 


IN THE STEEET. 


93 


Poor Lucia ! She was supremely miserable : and fear- 
ful of defending herself, lest she should betray the 
secret of Aline’s and the child’s existence. Robert 
Bruce — for the moment — was completely driven from 
her mind. All she could think of was Aline’s letter 
and Frank’s treachery. 

A vague and hideous fear chilled her very heart, and 
seemed to numb her brain and prevent her thinking 
clearly, when she tried to form some explanation into 
words. 

That fatal letter and its unfortunate writer ever 
seemed to rise up before her, and she sat as one 
dumb ; and blind too, never saying one word, nor 
raising her eyes from the carpet, a pattern of which she 
had looked at so intently and so long, that she could 
see its bright color and strange design with her eyes 
shut. 

She was still thinking — “ If she were so unhappy at 
the keeping of another’s secrets, what untold misery 
would be hers if by some misfortune she should have 
secrets of her own to keep,” when the Doctor’s voice 
penetrated her brain once more and she heard him say: 

“Lucia, don’t you think your conduct is most cruel 
to poor Frank, who is gone away under the impres- 
sion that some tacit understanding exists between you, 
and that some day you will be his wife ? ” ’ 

“ No, I am not cruel to Frank. He and I understand 
each other perfectly on that point,” she answered 
quickly. 

“ I don’t believe I understand you. Do you mean to 
tell me that Francois knows you love another man, and 
will not be his wife ? ” 

“ I don’t think he knows that I love some one else, I 
don’t believe I knew it myself until to-night, but he 


94 


a blonde creole. 


does know that I will never marry him, for I told him 
so last night.” 

At this piece of startling information, Madame Or- 
lando dropped her handkerchief from her eyes, and 
looking steadily at Lucia asked, “ Why was not T told 
of this? What have I done, my child, to be so sud- 
denly excluded from your confidence. If you found 
that you could not love Frangois, and preferred Mr. 
Bruce to him, why did you not say so. No one wished 
to force you to marry my son. We have always loved 
you very dearly and thought you returned our love, 
and wished to be our daughter-in-law,” and the old 
lady assumed a very injured tone. 

“ Yes maman , I do love you and the Doctor very, 
very dearly. You are the only parents I have ever 
known. But I do not love Frank well enough to be 
his wife, and I intended to tell you this, only it has all 
happened so suddenly that I have not had time. You 
dear old maman” fondly kissing the wrinkled cheeks 
of her foster-mother, “ you are not excluded from my 
confidences. I will always tell you everything — that 
is — I mean ” 

Seeing her embarrassment Madame Orlando asked, 
“ Why do you make a reservation, why am I to share 
only half of your confidence?” 

“ Not half maman , only I do not believe you would 
want me to tell you secrets which are not mine alone, 
especially when ” 

Here she paused again lest she should betray the se- 
crets of others, which had now become such an unbear- 
able burden to her truthful young heart. 

The Doctor looked into her confused and blushing 
face for an instant, then said, “ The truth of the mat- 
ter is, that you are very tired and sleepy Lucia, and so 


IN THE STREET. 


95 


excited that you scarcely know what you are saying. 
So you had better go to bed, and try to sleep, dear, or 
we will have you raving in brain fever next.” 

Lucy was very glad to be dismissed, and at once 
said 4 good-night ’ — albeit it was morning now — and be- 
took herself to the solitude of her pretty little room. 

Wearied and tired, yet with sleep an enemy to her 
wide open eyelids, she removed her dress, and letting 
the heavy coils of fluffy hair drop down her back in 
loose luxuriant curls, she turned low the gas and took 
a seat by the open window, to try and think over the 
startling events which had rushed so madly into her 
life during the past two days. 

Lucia was not a philosopher. She was not even a 
thinker. She was nothing more than a happy, 
thoughtless child, whose lines had fallen in very 
pleasant places, and who had been petted and caressed, 
and spared all care and trouble during the few short 
years which spanned her peaceful life. But now, 
events seemed to crowd upon her with a haste and 
importance that demanded her every thought and at- 
tention . 

With her two white hands she pushed back the wealth 
of hair from her aching brow, and tried to think. 

Robert Bruce and her engagement to him, seemed to 
occupy but a secondary place in her thoughts ; whilst 
the affairs of Frank and Aline stood out boldly from 
among the incidents, which fate seemed to be weaving 
so closely around her. 

The one result of her thinking was — the desire to be 
far away from the house which for so long had been 
such a happy home to her, before Frank’s return. The 
thought of leaving her dear foster parents filled her 
eyes with tears, and seemed to blot out the fact that 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


she was leaving it to share the chances and fortunes 
of the husband of her choice. 

But she knew Frank to be impulsive, and passionate 
even to recklessness, and feared the consequences of 
his knowledge of her engagement to Robert Bruce, to 
whom he had taken such a jealous dislike. 

Looking up at the sky sprinkled with a million 
pulsating stars, Lucia sighed — “I wonder if many girls 
have such a sad betrothal. Poor mamaris disappoint- 
ment and sorrow has driven all the joy out of my heart, 
and I cannot even think of Robert Bruce and his love 
for me, with the degree of happiness that should be 
mine.” 

Had this beautiful child-woman been capable of 
reading her horoscope in the twinkling stars that shone 
so brightly down on her that night, as she laid her ach- 
ing head on the pillow for the much needed rest ; and 
could have seen the future heart aches and sorrows for 
her, that were written there — she would have laughed 
at her present anxieties, and called them “summer 
troubles.” 

What a kind, as well as wise Providence, to draw so 
impenetrable a curtain over our future! Yet there be 
fools who would rush upon their fate, and try by all 
the science in their power, to penetrate the opaque 
folds of the veil, for one glimpse of their future, e’en 
though the paths lead through long and dark vistas of 
miseries and sorrows. 

“Shall any gazer see with mortal eyes? 

Or any searcher know by mortal mind ? 

Veil after veil will lift, but there must be 
Veil upon veil behind.’* 

The light of Asia. 


ASKING THE DOCTOR’S CONSENT. 


07 


CHAPTER XIV. 

ASKING THE DOCTOR’S CONSENT. 

So great is the rejuvenating power of sleep, espe- 
cially when accompanied by youth, that Lucia awoke 
next morning feeling quite her own self again, and 
even a little disposed to forget she was the custodian 
of the secrets of others. 

She smiled to herself when she thought of her being 
engaged, and whispered, “ I know Robert is gentle and 
kind, and very fond of me. I think I am fond of him 
too, only he is so large and dignified that I am half 
afraid of him. What a lucky girl I am, especially 
so, since he proposed to me just when that treacherous 
Frank received his conge at my hands. How glad I am 
that he cannot now think I am pining in secret at his 
infidelity. I wish Robert would ask me to settle upon 
a very early date for our marriage ; I would name the 
day immediately before Frank’s return, and show him 
how heart-whole I am.” 

Poor child ! she honestly thought she was in love 
with the man whom she had promised to marry not 
twelve hours before. She respected and honored him 
— but love! She knew nothing of the one, all-absorb- 
ing frenzy, which seizes alike heart and brain to the ut- 
ter exclusion of all else, save the one being who has 
power to generate this intoxicating madness, this deli- 
cious delirium. 

She had yet to learn the full strength of a passionate 
woman’s love: that love which is a consuming fever, 

7 


98 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


an ever devouring flame, a hunger and selfishness, as 
well as a scourge and curse. 

Yes, she respected Robert Bruce and admired him ; 
two very good foundation stones on which to erect a 
vast tower of love. She even liked him very much, 
and was delighted at his timely proposal, which settled 
the difficult question of Frank’s persistency. 

While she was lying dreamily contented, and won- 
dering what o’clock it was, a low, gentle tap was made 
on the door. 

In answer to her animated “ come in ” Madame Or- 
lando, entered and said, “ Ah, I know you are better 
this morning, cherie , by the natural ring in your voice. 
I have brought you your coffee. It is nine o’clock ; do 
you feel well enough to get up ? ” 

“ Certainly, chere maman , I am quite well, and will 
be down in less than no time. You know Robert is 
coming to-day to see the Doctor, so of course I must 
be there to receive him, after he has passed through the 
“ fiery ordeal ” of the Doctor’s lecture on his disregard 
of the proprieties, by proposing to me in the public 
street, laughed the happy girl, as she sat up in bed, 
and sipped the fragrant caffe noir , from a little egg- 
shell china cup, not much larger than a thimble. 

Lucia’s engagement was no laughing matter to the 
little mother, who only sighed, and thought of her poor 
boy’s broken heart. But she was determined to keep 
up a brave exterior, for the sake of the girl who was al- 
most as dear to her affectionate old heart as her favor- 
ite son. 

That same evening when Robert Bruce met Lucia 
alone in the half lights of the dim drawing-room, he 
folded his arms around her, and pressing a kiss upon 
her upturned face whispered : “ I cannot tell you how 


ASKING THE DOCTOR S CONSENT. 99 

happy I am, my little darling. Now you are mine, all 
mine. The poor old Doctor seemed quite distressed, 
when I told him I had come to ask for his household 
pet. The tears nearly choked his husky old voice, and 
he said, “ It was very hard to lose you, but he was de- 
termined not to let his love and selfishness, stand in the 
way of your happiness.” 

“ Kiss me my darling, and tell me my love makes you 
happy.” 

Lucia answered truthfully when she said, “ She was 
happy.” She was indeed supremely happy, when she 
compared her present condition to that of only two 
nights before, while she sat under the cold calm rays 
of the moon, suffering so intensely from the insults of 
Frank’s words of burning love, that love which he had 
robbed another of to lay at her feet ; and the emotion 
which her own scorn had raised in her honest heart. 
She thought then, that she could never rise to the sur- 
face of the deep sea of trouble and doubt, which seem- 
ingly was yawning to engulf her in its dark waters. 

Lucia was not a selfish girl. But who will blame 
her for “laying ” the ghost of Aline’s letter, on this the 
first da} r of her engagement, especially when the man 
was none other than Robert Bruce, handsome, kind and 
polished. 

He had stayed to dinner, after which the Doctor and 
his wife remained in the drawing-room only long 
enough to take their coffee and hear a sonata or two ; 
then like the wise old people they were, left the room 
to the “ solitude of two,” and went to the surgery 
where they spent their evening in ministering consola- 
tion to each other. 

Lucia was quite content to sit beside her fiancee and 
feel his arm encircling her waist, and listen as he dis- 


100 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


coursed upon their future — that future of which she 
was the deity at whose feet all gifts of love, of happi- 
ness, of joy were to be lavishly laid, as fitting offerings 
of his love, to the shrine of her youth and beauty. 

Robert Bruce had seen many lovely and handsome 
women in his day. He had seen them in all the glory 
of queenly raiment, and sparkling jewels, at the throne 
of imperious fashion which reigns supreme at that gay 
Capitol — W ashington . 

But as he sat that night, and drank in the pure, inno- 
cent beauty of the childlike face, with its trusting eyes 
of softest brown raised so confidingly to his — he 
thought he had never yet seen beauty equal to it. 

The pleasure of his caresses, and the consciousness 
of his love, lent to her sweet face a glow of supreme 
pleasure and content. 

While the happy man feasted his eyes on all the love- 
liness soon to be his — he was thinking “how exceed- 
ingly his beautiful wife will be admired, and how much 
he will be envied at the court of the capitol where he in- 
tends to introduce her next season.” 

Like all delightful — as well as sorrowful evenings — 
this too came to a close. But not till Robert Bruce 
had crowned the happiness of that blissful day by ask- 
ing Lucia to tell him when she would be his in verity, 
and truth. 

“My little darling you must not put it off to a very 
distant day, I think I could not bear the idea of a pos- 
sibility of something unforeseen occurring to rob me 
of my treasure. You cannot name a date too soon for 
my happiness or convenience, my beautiful little pet.” 

All day long had Lucia wished for this very thing, 
but during the evening had been so contentedly happy, 
that she had entirely forgotten her skeleton. Only 


ASKING THE DOCTOR’S CONSENT. 101 

now when her betrothed asked her to name an early 
date for their marriage, did she hear the rattling of its 
bones, and shiver for a moment at the sound. 

With her little round head resting on his great 
strong breast, and his arm folded fondly about her, she 
whispered, “ Let it be inside of a fortnight.” 

For an instant he did not answer, then as she 
looked furtively at him, she discovered the least sus- 
picion of surprise in his deep blue eyes, and a smile of 
gratified vanity lurking about the corners of his fine 
firm mouth. 

For a moment she was embarrassed, then said, “ I 
am afraid you think it too soon.” 

“ No, no, my pet. It would not have been too soon had 
you named to-morrow. It only proves to me how 
great your love is and how pleased you are to be my 
wife.” 

As he uttered these words, between smiles and 
kisses, Lucia felt guilty; and for one moment almost 
determined to say, “ I do love you, and know no happi- 
ness greater than being your wife ; but I must be away 
from here and settled before Frank’s return, or he will 
persecute me by his professions of love, and offers of 
marriage, which are vile insults to me.” Then she re- 
membered Aline’s existence, and the disgrace Frank’s 
conduct must call down upon them all, were it known, 
and determined to keep silence longer, lest in some un- 
accountable manner, Robert Bruce should condemn 
even her knowledge of such vile conduct. 

Poor little Lucia was but a child still, and knew 
nothing of human nature, especially man’s nature, 
which is often a mystery even to himself. 

So she bade her lover good night, but still held 
locked in her breast the secret of a woman whom she 


102 


A BLuNDE CREOLE. 


had never seen, and of the man who had sworn to 
marry her in spite of all obstacles. 

Robert Bruce was very happy as he walked down 
the brilliantly lighted street that led to his Hotel 
after leaving Lucia, and with an honest ring in his 
deep voice whispered to the stars — 

“ Dear little girl. How good of her to love me, and 
how grateful I am for that love. How* proud I shall 
be of her too ? How many young fellows would give 
their very heads to stand in my place to-night, and 
would think the love of this fair girl the greatest bless- 
ing Heaven could bestow upon them ? ” 

“ Well, I am grateful, only I wish I were younger, 
more nearly her own age, and could give her such mad, 
impetuous, all-absorbing love as I was capable of then. 
Ah, what follies my passionate love led me to com- 
mit.” 

“ I wonder if I ought to tell Lucia of that time, of 
that foolish time so many years ago. Would she love 
me as dearly if she knew ? No, I think not. She is 
such a child and knows so little of the world and its 
temptations ; nor has her conventual education tended 
to enlighten her — happily. I would not have the bloom 
rubbed off my peach. No she must not know — at least 
not yet : when we are married, and she is mine — all my 
own, and I can smooth away her innocent prejudices — 
I will then tell her, will tell her all, but not now. I 
could not run the fearful risk of losing her. My beau- 
tiful Lucia.” 

Robert Bruce had been greedy for riches, for power, 
for position once ; now these were all attained, he would 
gladly have given them back for the blessed exchange 
of youth, with its bright ambitions, and foolish mis- 
takes, and mythical dreams of future greatness. 


103 


“I LOVE NO ONE BETTER.” 

To-night as he clasped his beautiful love in his arms, 
and gazed into her youthful face, he actually felt young 
once more. So true is it that we live the life of those 
we love, and whose souls are twin of our own. 


CHAPTER XV. 

44 I LOVE NO ONE BETTER.” 

In answer to Lucia’s note, Viva came post haste, and 
seizing the girl in her arms said — 

“And so you are engaged to be married, you sly lit- 
tle puss. Who would have supposed such a little mite 
as you are, would have caught the heart and fancy of 
that gay Lothario, Robert Bruce? ” 

“ He is not gay Vi, that is the only objection I have 
to him, he is too dignified, and too grand. He is not 
gay enough. You know my nature is so sunshiny that 
I like bright things and gay people about me. Robert 
is handsome and all that is good, but he is not gay. I 
wish he were.” 

“ Well Lu if he is not gay now, it is no proof that 
he never has been, and I think he looks like a man who 
has sown his wild oats, and I expect a plentiful crop he 
had too. Any way dear, I think you are a particularly 
fortunate young woman to land this 4 big fish.’ ” 

44 Do you, Vi ? ” 

44 Yes, I do ; but when are you going to be married, 
not till the autumn, I suppose.” 

44 Oh yes we are. The last of next week.” 

44 Next week, Lu ? Well, I must say he was in a ter- 
rific haste to 4 crown his nuptial vows.’ Why you cer- 


104 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


tainly never can have a suitable trousseau made by that 
time.” 

“ Oh, it was not Robert who set the date, I named the 
day, or at least asked him to let it take place within a 
fortnight.” 

“ You ! what did he say to your haste, pray? ” 

“ He said nothing for an instant.” 

“No, I should think not. Surprise rendered him 
dumb, I suppose. But what on earth made you name 
such an unconscionably early day,” said Viva, showing 
intense surprise in face and voice. 

“ Oh he did not think it too soon. Indeed he said, 
‘had I named to-morrow he would not have thought it 
too soon,’ ” answered Lucia. 

“Perhaps not, Lu, only I fancy I know men a little 
better than you do. They may offer a woman their 
love, and ask her to be their wife, but they don’t want 
to be jumped at, all the same, I can tell you. Take care 
you are not bearing out the axiom of ‘ marrying in 
haste and repenting at leisure ! ’ You have only known 
him three or four months, remember.” 

“ I know that, but then one really never does know 
a man till one marries and lives with him, and sees him 
under every trying circumstance of life, no matter how 
long they have been acquainted,” said Lucia oracularly. 

“ Since when have you become such a philosopher, or 
from whom learned such worldly wisdom,” queried 
Viva. 

“ Oh I don’t know. It seems that I have always 
heard the wiseacres say that. Besides I should think a 
good man’s heart is like an open book, easy to read. 
And my Robert has such a gentle manner, and kind 
heart, that I am willing to take him for better, for 
worse, for richer, for poorer.” 


“I LOVE NO ONE LETTER.” 


105 


44 Tell me, Lucia, do you love Robert Bruce very 
much ? Do you love him with all your heart, and all 
your soul, and all your strength?” 

44 Yes, 1 think 1 do. At least, I don’t love any one 
else any better.” 

“You don’t eh ? What a funny girl you are, Lucia. 
Well, if you are not so madly in love with him, why 
were you in such a hurry to be married, pray ? ” 

Here Lucia drew a little nearer her friend, and look- 
ing very important, whispered, “ You know Frank is 
only gone away for two weeks, and three days of the 
fortnight is already gone. I want to be married before 
his return, for if I am not — he is sure to propose to me 
again, and perhaps get dear maman to plead his cause. 
If she should — I know I would betray Aline and the 
boy. Poor Aline ! I wonder how Frank settled the 
matter of the letter with her. I hope he was not se- 
vere. But he was in such a white heat of passion when 
I scorned his insulting proposal, and showed the con- 
demning letter to him, that he was quite beside him- 
self. and scarcely accountable for his actions.” As her 
friend made no comment she continued — 

“ Do you know, Viva, I can scarcely persuade myself 
that it is but three days since all that happened. It 
seems months and months ago, when I was made to 
feel such intense mortification by the disclosures that 
letter made to me. Then the same night Frank offered 
me his love and marriage. The love which was not his 
to give. Then the next day your dinner party and 
Robert’s offer. And next day, only yesterday, he asked 
the dear Doctor’s consent. Yes, only three days. My! 
but how long ago it seems since the first part of the 
drama was played ? ” And she here disburdened her- 
self of a great sigh, which only made Viva laugh. 


106 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


“ I know it is very tragic, dear,” said that lady, “ but 
I still contend you could have deferred your marriage 
for a month, any way. Frank must still be suffering 
from your scorn and haughty rejection of his suit, and 
would not have had courage to renew his offer in less 
than that time I am sure. Besides, it would have given 
you more time to get ready in.” 

“ Yes, Yi, I know all that. But I don’t want a large 
trousseau ; I shall be married in my traveling dress, 
and go directly away. You know the little money my 
own father left me has been expended on my education. 
And I do not want to put the dear Doctor to the ex- 
pense of a great outfit, for he has been very unfortu- 
nate in money matters during the past year, and can 
ill-afford unnecessary expenses. The dear old Doctor 
and maman , have ever been most kind and indulgent to 
me, and I should feel myself very ungrateful if I 
allowed him to embarrass himself in order to give me 
a fine trousseau, and grand wedding. Besides, Robert 
is most desirous that we should be married very 
quietly.” 

“ Is he ? I wonder why ! He has such hosts of 
friends that I should fancy he would like a grand affair 
to which he might invite them all,” said Viva with 
much surprise in her voice. 

“I don’t know why, but he wishes it all the same, 
and I am awfully glad. I hate the fuss and confusion 
attendant upon grand weddings; they seem such a 
paltry show, such a blaspheming of a very sacred sac- 
rament. I wish mine to be quiet, serious and calm ; 
then I shall feel more securely married, and have no 
care for the future.” 

“ Perhaps you are right. Such big affairs are very 
unsatisfactory to those most intimately concerned. ’Tis 


“I LOVE NO ONE BETTER.” 107 

the outsiders and strangers who have the most satisfac- 
tion after all,” said Viva. 

“ Two things alone worry dear maman , and they are 
the very things which please me most. First and most 
important, is the fact that Francois will not be here. 
She says she cannot understand why I should allow 
Robert to fi^ a day before his return. And I thought 
it no untruth to let her remain under the impression 
that it was he who hastened the affair. And please, 
Yi, don’t you enlighten her on the subject. But you 
can well understand that I am desirous of not laying 
eyes on Frank till I am back from my wedding tour.” 

“ Poor Aline. I can fancy her peace of mind when 
she reads my marriage notice in the paper. Then she 
can have her darling, treacherous Frank, all to herself,” 
the girl said as a scornful light flashed from beneath 
her long black lashes ; then continued, 

“ The other great worry is, that I must have a meagre 
trousseau because there is no time to spend months of 
worry and anxiety over a lot of dresses, which will be- 
come old fashioned before I can wear them out. To 
say nothing of the anxiety the bills will cause the Doc- 
tor when they come in.” 

“ You certainly have learned a great deal of wisdom 
lately ; I did not give you credit for such sound good 
sense,” laughed Viva. “ Of course you will be mar- 
ried in church ? ” 

“ Certainly. Then nothing can separate us,” posi- 
tively asserted Lucia. “ My only fear was that Rob- 
ert might ask me to be married in his church. That, I 
could never consent to. Why, I should not feel myself 
married without the blessing of my dear old priest. 
It is such a pity Robert is only a protestant, but I am 
bound to bring him into the one, arid only true church 


108 


A BLONDE CEEOLE. 


before we are married long,” laughed Lucia with a pos- 
itive little nod of her head. 

“ Well, I hope you may succeed better than I have 
with Mr. Jackson, for he laughs at my 4 proselyting ’ as 
he calls it, and contents himself with lounging about 
the house all day on Sundays, reading the papers, in- 
stead of going to church.” 

But Lucia’s smile of superior wisdom said plainer 
than words, “ that she knew she would succeed where 
others had failed, for was not Robert her willing slave, 
and had he not promised that her lightest wish should 
be his pleasure as well as law ? ” Ah ! poor trusting 
child, she had yet to learn that the language of a lover 
changes its cadence when that lover is himself changed 
into a being more substantial. 

The very sunbeam that sends its shaft of golden 
light through the jealousies of the window, and rests so 
caressingly among the bands of her coppery gold hair, 
is not more transient than a lover’s vows. 

“ Vi,” said Lucia presently, “ maman and I are going 
down town after luncheon to choose some things and 
give orders for my traveling dress, and one or two 
others which are absolutely necessary. Will you not 
remain to lunch, then come with us ? I should like 
your good taste in the selection of my things, very 
much.” 

“ Thanks Lu, I shall be pleased to help you all I can, 
but it is impossible for me to stay to luncheon, as I 
have left word that I will return home before then. 
But if it makes no difference, I will meet you on Canal 
Street, and then go where you may wish.” 

“Just as you think best, dear, but you cannot im- 
agine how strange it seems to talk of my ‘wedding 
garments.’ And it has come so suddenly too, that my 


“I LOVE NO ONE BELTER.” 109 

brain refuses to take it in. I wonder if all girls feel as 
dazed and as glad as I do ? ” dreamily spoke Lucia. 

“ You may be sure they do, if they are marrying the 
man they love. But Lu, dear, I don’t believe you are 
very much in love, I think you fear Frank Orlando 
more than you love Robert Bruce.” 

“ For shame Yiva. That is ‘base slander,” laughed 
the pretty girl. “ I really love him very much, and am 
proud of him and honored by his offer. I know I 
shall be much happier as his wife, than I should have 
been if all had gone well, and I had accepted Frank, 
whom I do not love at all. Indeed I love Robert 
better than anyone else I know.” 

“ Well, I am glad to hear that much from you, mat- 
ter of fact little damsel that you are. Still I wish 
you were ‘head over ears ’ in love with him. In fact, 
just as silly and eMetee as girls madly in love always 
are. It is such a safeguard against future troubles you 
know, which are almost sure to rise up in the domestic 
lives of all married people. But I must go, dear, if 
I am to meet you down town,” said the practical 
Yiva, as she took her leave. 

“ What a dear old crow Yiva is, she is always 
croaking about coming evils,” said Lucia to herself 
as she returned to the room after bidding her friend 
‘good-bye.’ “What troubles can possibly come to us 
which we could not meet and avert? True, Robert 
might lose his money, but then he could work for 
more. Or he might be taken ill. Well, illness comes 
to every one, and must be borne as all things should, 
that come from the inevitable. There would be no use 
in sitting down and bewailing one’s misfortune. I 
believe in trying to help oneself as much as possible.” 

How easy it was when all was wrapt in the glamour 


110 


A BLONDE CREOLE; 


of her coming marriage to philosophize, and look lightly 
upon troubles which the future might hold for her. 
But did she feel as sanguine of her ability to meet 
and endure troubles bravely, three nights ago, when she 
sat nearly deluged in grief and sorrow, trying to read 
courage and patience in the cold beams of the stars, 
till the morning’s light extinguished the tiny twink- 
ling sparks? No, she then told herself she could 
never smile again, or be happy, so great was her indig- 
nation and contempt for the deceit, the treachery, and 
the baseness of that one man Frank Orlando. 

How easy it is to laugh in the glad broad beams of 
the sun’s bright rays, when we think the black night 
of trouble and sorrow is far behind us? 

How quickly the sorrows and troubles of the past are 
forgotten — those troubles that we thought would ever 
live in our memory. And how they cease to fester 
and ache, as time spreads its healing balm over the 
wounds, and bids us smile again. Troubles of the 
future are often exaggerated, magnified and shunned 
— till they cannot be averted any longer, then the 
future becomes the present, and the present the past ; 
when we laugh again and say “ they were not so bad 
as we anticipated.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE WEDDING TOUR. 

It was a most charming day. The April showers 
had washed the faces of the little hills, and made 
them fairly “sing for joy,” in their bright new cos- 
tumes of tender green. The soft warm sunshine had 


THE WEDDING TOUB. 


Ill 


called back to life the brilliant little field flowers, 
which timidly thrust forth their tender petals to catch 
its first rays, and awoke from their long winter’s sleep 
with a glad pean of praise, to the author of such a 
beautiful nature. 

The little spring brooklet, tumbled complainingly 
down the side of the hill in its effort to find a familiar 
course, which the winter’s wind and falling leaves, had 
done their utmost to conceal and turn aside. 

A confused murmur of sweet sound, and delicate 
fragrance of bursting bud and blossom, were borne on 
the soft breeze to the senses of a fair young girl and a 
handsome man, who stood with his arm about her 
waist, drinking in great draughts of nature’s pure 
elixir. 

All was so peaceful and still, that one might have 
thought they were gazing upon some magic picture, 
and refrain’d from movement, lest they break the weird 
spell, and see it all fade from before their wondering 
gaze. 

At last the girl sighed, and turning to her companion 
said : 

“ How supremely calm and lovely this spot is. I 
have been photographing these beautiful green hills, 
and stately trees upon the tablets of my memory, which 
I hope may never fade away from its surface, either by 
time’s decaying breath, or adversity’s deadly touch. 
What a happy fortnight this has been dear Robert. 
I could live here forever, and ask for no other com- 
panionship than this beautiful honest nature, and the 
love of my handsome noble husband.” 

“Have you been so happy then, Lucia, my darling 
wife?” And Robert Bruce bent his stately head till 


112 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


his lips touched the golden head resting upon his broad 
breast, as he asked her this question. 

“ Yes, I have been supremely happy, and am sorry 
our stay draws so near its close. I think I have lived 
another existence here. Lived with the sympathy and 
perception of another soul, if such a thing were pos- 
sible.” 

“Well dearest, we will come again. Alabama is not 
so far from New Orleans but that we can take frequent 
little excursions here of a few days or a week, at almost 
any time. But you know our marriage was so quickly 
settled upon, that I had no time to make arrangements 
for leaving the city for a long absence, and feel that I 
am needed there, and must return. I did think 
to take you to the North, and to some of the famous 
watering places this summer, but if you prefer it, we 
can come here again, and leave the Northern tour for 
another time.” 

“ What a dear good husband you are to me, Robert, 
and how much more dearly I love you, than I did be- 
fore our marriage. But I am afraid Viva, and my dear 
foster-mother, will pronounce me very spoiled,” said 
Lucia, laughing up into his face with her childlike, trust- 
ing dark eyes brimful of love-light. 

“ And so after a marriage of two weeks my little 
bride says ‘she loves me more than she did before our 
marriage.’ Well, continue in the good work dearest, 
and let your love grow with your growth, and 
strengthen with your strength,” laughingly said Bruce 
as he drew her nearer his heart, and covered her brow, 
her cheeks, her lips with kisses, whispering all the 
while, “ my love, my wife, it were impossible for me to 
love you more than I do now.” 

As hand in hand Robert Bruce and his young wife 


THE WEDDING TOUR. 


113 


wended their slow steps over hill and vale, along the 
grassy margin of purling streams, or through meadows 
bright with the many colors of wild flowers, a sad yet 
sweet calm seemed to steal over each, and seal their lips 
with a golden silence. 

Lucia was busy bidding ‘ good-bye ’ to all these lovely 
scenes, and telling her heart “ how happy she has been 
among them, and that Robert and she will come again 
to renew their acquaintance, when they are clothed in 
their full regalia of a perfected summer.” 

But Robert Bruce had let his thoughts wander back 
ten years into the past, and was comparing this glad 
spring day, to many that stood out clear, and vivid, 
against the back ground of buried hopes, of troubles 
deep and dark ; and he was saying to himself “ Had I 
not better tell my wife of that time, of my folly, my 
sorrow, and my fearful disappointment ? ” 

Then he looked into the calm happy innocent face 
beside him, and said, “ Why should I make her last 
days here sad with memories of my past. Why not let 
her carry away a perfect mental picture of our lives 
begun together, midst these pastoral scenes? No I. 
shall not tell her now. I will wait till we are re- 
turned and settled in our new home. A few weeks 
more or less can make little difference. Dear heart, 
she loves me well, and will forgive — I am sure.” 

As they drew near the beautiful gothic hotel, with 
its many gables and turrets of bright red brick, stand- 
ing out so brightly against the fresh green of the 
hills in its rear, Robert drew his wife’s hand through 
his arm, and together they mounted the broad steps, 
and passed through the groups of guests who were 
chatting together, in the angles of the wide sunny 
piazzas, or promenading the grand corridors ; and with 


114 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


a smile to one, or a word to others, they entered their 
rooms to make ready for their departure. 

Lucia had been very happy in this beautiful place, 
surrounded by every thoughtful comfort which her fond 
and admiring husband could procure for her, and as she 
raised her head from the trunks she was packing, her 
eyes lingered long and fondly on the fair landscape be- 
yond the window. 

She had never traveled further than the boundaries of 
her own loved State before, and did not imagine such a 
perfect contrast to its flat alluvial richness could be 
possible within one day’s journey. She had never be- 
fore seen green hills and sloping valleys, and now never 
tired of drinking in their glory. 

While she stood dreamily idle, her soft brown eyes 
taking in all the beauties of sunshine and picturesque 
landscape, her husband came to her side, and putting 
his arm around her waist said — 

“ You are sorry to leave this beautiful country my 
pet. What a great votary of nature my sweet wife is. 
Well, you are right, nothing could be more quietly 
beautiful than these hills sloping away in undulating 
lines one after the other, till they seem to be lost in 
cloudland.” 

“ Yes, they are simply grand. I think some of those 
hills over there — high enough to be dignified by the 
title of mountain. Don’t you dear?” 

“ No, darling I cannot say that, after having crossed 
the ‘ Rockies ’ in a wagon train ! The track generally 
follows the base of the mountains which is in perpetual 
twilight, for the sun can never penetrate the deep val- 
leys, so immensely high do their great peaks tower in 
the clear rarefied air.” 

“ I think I should be filled with such awe at their in- 


THE WEDDING TOUR. 


115 


finite height, as to be frightened too much to admire 
them. I think I should not like such awful grandeur. 
No, these pretty hills please me most. I could ask for 
nothing more sublime,” said she. 

“ It is very beautiful, especially to you who see na- 
ture with a poet’s eyes. I knew you would be pleased 
with this grand rolling country so unlike the monoto- 
nous flat marshes one finds everywhere in your state, and 
where there is not a hill as high as a thimble. The 
scenery in each of the Southern States seems to vary 
so,” said he rather abstractedly. 

u Yes, this is beautiful indeed. But you must not 
speak disparagingly of Louisiana. You know all South- 
erners are very proud of, and fond of their particular 
State, besides, if Louisiana has no hills, she has some 
beautiful lakes and bayous, and a . very prolific Salt 
Mine. The discovery of which, during the war, was a 
perfect 4 God-send ’ to the army and besieged people.” 

“ Far be it from me, to disparage the State which 
found me my treasure — my dearest pet.” And folding 
her in his arms he pressed many warm kisses upon her 
upturned face, and whispered, “ I wonder how I ever 
managed to live without you, my love, my wife, myall ; 
and now know that life spent from your side would be 
but a living death.” 

Looking up into his great blue eyes that were filled 
with a contented passion, Lucia laughed a low musical 
laugh, full of trust, and faith, and confidence, as she 
said — .« And it will last as long as life.'' 


116 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

“YOU ARE NOT HIS WIFE.” 

Rat, tat, tap, on the door. 

“ Come in,” called Lucia’s cheery voice. 

“ If you please ma’am there is a lady in the drawing 
room, who says she wishes to see you particular.” 

“A lady James! Did she send up a card? What 
is her name ? ” 

“ Don’t know ma’am. She said it did not matter 
about her name. That Mr. Bruce would know her.” 

“Well, Mr. Bruce is not in. Show her up here 
James. I will see her.” 

As the man closed the door, Lucia stepped into her 
bedroom to make sure, by a peep in the mirror, that 
her hair was neat, and her collar straight ; wondering 
all the while who the visitor might be that refused to 
give her name, yet who knew her husband. 

They had returned from their delightful little wed- 
ding tour of two weeks to Alabama, and were occupy- 
ing a suite of rooms at the St. Charles Hotel, where 
they intended remaining only till they went North, 
as Robert said “for their genuine bridal tour.” And 
had arranged to take a house, and go comfortably to 
housekeeping, on their return to New Orleans in the au- 
tumn. 

As Lucia pushed open the door communicating with 
her parlor, she saw a tall thin lady with hair of an 
iron grey, standing at the table holding a large photo- 
graph of Mr. Bruce in her hand, 


“YOU AKE NOT HIS WIFE.’ 


117 




For an instant longer she gazed intently at the 
pictured features, then with a deep drawn sigh, re- 
placed it on the table. 

As she turned fully round and saw Lucia standing 
before her in all her fresh young beauty, she looked her 
surprise, but said not a word. 

The girl felt most uncomfortable under the hard cold 
glitter of her eyes, eyes — the color of which she could 
not define, but which just now looked positively green. 

As the silence was becoming awkward and her visitor 
not disposed to make it less so, by speaking and making 
her business known, Lucia asked, 

“ Did you wish to see me ? I believe you neglected 
to give the servant your name ? ” 

“ Yes, I wanted to see you,” she curtly answered, 
“My name is Bruce, Mrs. Bruce.” 

“ Indeed ! ” Lucia ejaculated, while her eyes opened 
wide. That is my name. May I ask if you are re- 
lated to my husband, as you bear the same name? ” 

“You say that is your name. You mean you call 
yourself Bruce. Yes, I am related to your husband, 
very closely related indeed,” she sarcastically said, 
never taking the cold glitter of her green grey eyes from 
off the younger woman’s face, as though she were study- 
ing the effect of her strange words. 

Lucia was very nervous, positively frightened, and 
wished heartily there was some one within call, if it 
were only a servant, but she tried hard not to let this 
insolent person see her timidity, and said, in a voice 
which required all her strength to steady. 

“ Yes, I not only call myself Bruce but I am Mrs. 
Bruce.” 

“ Indeed ? ” Then with an immensity of scorn in 
her face, and sarcasm in her voice, said, “ I suppose 


118 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


that is what you think. But just let me convince you, 
that you are laboring under a great mistake.” 

As Lucia looked into the face of this remarkable 
woman with such strange lights gleaming from her 
green-gray eyes, and her mouth — not a large nor sensual 
one— which was quivering with some hidden tempest 
only waiting to burst forth, and a complexion livid 
with excitement, or rage ; she was overcome by such 
fear as scarcely to restrain herself from shrieking 
aloud, or rushing from the room. For some instinct 
told her this woman was mad. 

For an instant everything turned black before her 
eyes and she felt deathly sick. Fearing dire conse- 
quences, should she faint away with no one near except 
this person, whom she now felt sure was a lunatic — she 
made a mighty effort, and reached a glass of iced water 
that stood on the side of the central table, and with a 
tremendous determination, swallow’d its contents at 
one draught. 

The woman then took a seat nearly opposite her ; 
and after a minute’s pause asked — “ Do you feel bet- 
ter?” 

“Yes,” said Lucia, “I think Ido. This is such a 
warm day, the heat must have overpowered me.” 

If she thought to deceive this wretched creature by 
such a paltry subterfuge she was mistaken, for with 
the same curl of scorn, or hate, (Lucia could not de- 
termine which), raising the corners of her mouth, she 
said : 

“ That is right; I have much to tellyou — which you 
should have heard months ago, perhaps — and you will 
need all your strength, so bear up.” 

Then as the young wife made no comment upon this 


Vi< v - 



' ‘ IF YOU DO NOT LEAVE MY ROOM AND THIS HOTEL AT ONCE, I WILL 
RING FOR THE PORTER AND HAVE YOU TURNED OUT/’ 


Page 119, 








































































. • 



























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119 


44 YOU ARE NOT HIS WIFE.” 

insolent advice, she continued — rather to herself than 
to Lucia — 

44 So it was for this pretty little wax doll that he for- 
got all his promises, all his vows? ” Then looking Lu- 
cia full in the face she asked, 44 Do you think you are 
his wife ? ” pointing disdainfully to the large photo- 
graph which she had put down in its place on the 
table. 

44 Yes,” quickly retorted Lucia, “As truly his wife 
as my church has power to make me.” 

And springing to her feet she added, 44 If you do not 
leave my rooms, and this hotel at once, I will ring for 
the porter and have you turned out. What right have 
you to inquire if I think myself the wife of Mr. Bruce 
or not? ” 

44 What right?” and laughing a wild, unnatural 
laugh — but never stirring from her seat said — 44 The 
right of a prior claim.” 

44 You lie! You false-hearted creature. You either 
state that which is utterly untrue, or you are mad 
And trembling now with passion, rather than fear, her 
beautiful face as white as the gown she wore, she leaned 
toward the woman and repeated : 

44 You either lie, or you are mad.” 

44 Mad am I ? I suppose that is what he has told 
you. That is what he told the doctors and my family, 
and had me locked up in an asylum and never came 
near me for years. And I lie, do I ? I tell you Robert 
Bruce is the liar. He made them all believe it for his 
own ends. I am no more mad than you are. But I 
swore I would be revenged.” And drawing near the 
frightened girl, with upraised hand clenched as though 
she would strike her dead, she fairly hissed between 
her thin lips. 


120 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


“ He married you did he, and you think you are his 
wife ? But you are not , I am his wife. He married me 
twelve years ago. Now who is his wife ? ” And she 
laughed in the white face of the trembling girl, as the 
devils might laugh over a lost soul in Hades. 

“You his wife! You the wife of my — my — Rob- 
ert ? ” stammered Lucia. She did not know why, but 
for her life, she could not call him husband before this 
raving woman, who accused him of such base deeds. 

“She is dead. Robert Bruce’s first wife is dead. 
You are a wretched impostor and I command you to 
leave my rooms,” said Lucia gaining a little courage as 
this thought presented itself to her mind. 

“ Dead is she ? I suppose he told you that too. No, 
you and he shall soon see that I am very much alive. 
And I am an impostor, am I ? Well, here is my mar- 
riage certificate ; you will believe that I suppose.” And 
tearing her dress open the wretched woman seized from 
her bosom a small square of oiled silk, from which she 
unfolded a paper so worn and thin at the edges and 
folds, as scarcely to hold together. “You will believe 
that , I think. You know Robert Bruce’s signature ? 
Is that genuine?” she fairly shrieked, as Lucia leaned 
forward, and in letters of fire read the name and hand- 
writing she knew so well. 

“And that is mine just under it,” pointing to a sig- 
nature in a scrawling angular hand so much affected a 
few years ago by women. “ Yes, that was my name. 
Florence Marian Monroe. Don’t forget it,” she laughed, 
“ and be sure to ask my husband when he comes to you, 
if he remembers Florence Marian Monroe ? ” 

As the poor girl sat gazing in dumb despair at the 
faded and worn paper which the woman still held in her 
hand at a safe distance — as though she feared it might 


“YOU ARE NOT HIS WIFE. 1 


121 


n 


be wrenched from her keeping — she looked like one 
stunned and death stricken. All her anger, all her fear 
had faded away from her heart, leaving her weak and 
faint, as she gazed upon that familiar signature to the 
fatal marriage certificate. 

As the exulting woman refolded, and replaced it in 
her bosom, she asked : — 

“ Are you now convinced ? ” 

For answer, the stricken girl could only moan from 
behind cold hands tightly pressed upon her staring eyes, 
as though trying to shut out the hateful sight of that 
which had, in one fell moment deprived her of all joy, 
all happiness, aye, almost even of life. 

“ Oh Robert ! Robert ! how could you have deceived 
and imposed so on me. I who thought you so noble, 
so truthful, so honorable. Is there one man living with 
a grain of honor in his soul where we poor trusting 
women are concerned ? ” 

“ Oh yes, he is very honorable,” mockingly replied 
the elder woman. “ I suppose he would defend his 
honor by the divorce he got from me, and which — 

“What?” shrieked Lucia, seizing her arm with fin- 
gers rendered strong as iron by the intensity of her ex- 
citement. “ What did you say. That he is divorced 
from you ? ” 

And in the gladness of her heart that her husband 
might be hers after all, she laughed and cried hysteric- 
ally, and called herself a “weak, credulous creature, to 
let this mad wretch make her doubt him, for one 
moment even.” 

“ Don’t be so elated, please,” the woman slowly said. 
“ That 4 divorce bill ’ was not a true one. My consent 
was not obtained, I was not even told of it, so of course 
it was not legal. Besides, what has the law to do with 


122 


A BLONDE CBEOLE. 


it. I was married in church by ecclesiastic laws, 
then what right has a State law to exercise its power 
over God’s law — tell me that ? ” 

“Are you a Catholic ?” asked Lucia quickly, in a 
voice so dry and hoarse that she scarcely recognized it 
herself. 

“ No,” answered the woman, “ I am an Episcopalian, 
but we do not believe in the validity of divorces any 
more than Catholics do, except for the one mortal sin. 
And he could not bring that against me. No, he 
claimed that I was insane,” and here she laughed such 
a wild cruel laugh, that Lucia shuddered and turned 
away. 

As the fact that her Church did not recognize 
divorces was forced home to her, by this woman’s cruel 
words, the darkness of night seemed to settle down 
upon the heavily stricken girl, and she sank into a seat 
weak, trembling, and numb. 

With lips so cold and stiff, this warm summer’s day, 
that she could scarcely force them to form the words, 
she wailed — 

“Leave me, leave me now, you have been revenged, 
for you have broken my heart.” 

Looking long at the desolated girl who was lovely 
even now in her despair, a look of pity crept for a 
minute into the woman’s grey eyes making them a trifle 
less green, as she said : 

“Yes, I am avenged. But I do not hate you as 
much as I do him. You could not help it, but as 
usual the weight of the sorrow will fall to your lot, 
simply because you are a woman. Women are always 
the victims ; not only of men’s perfidy, but of sin and 
misfortune generally.” After disburdening herself of 
this form of reasoning, she moved to the door. 


“YOU ARE NOT HIS WIFE.” 123 

A thought seemed to occur to Lucia ; for after a 
little inward struggle she asked : 

“ If you would not mind telling me I should like to 
know how you knew of” — our marriage — she was 
going to say, but substituted the word, 4 me,’ and said, 
“ of me, and where we were stopping.” 

44 Oh no, I don’t mind,” she answered carelessly. 44 It 
was through a letter from him, (she seemed to avoid 
speaking Bruce’s name). You see I am staying with my 
sister, and one day nearly two weeks ago, she received 
a letter. As it was passed to her I recognized the 
handwriting as his. I knew it contained some import- 
ant news by my sister’s face, which was full of surprise 
and displeasure. After reading it she had a long con- 
versation with her husband. I felt it concerned me, 
and was determined to find out what he had written.” 

44 1 waited long, and watched my opportunity. 
Then one day I found it in the pocket of her dress 
which she had changed, forgetting to take the letter 
out. 

44 1 read it, yes, every word of its accursed contents 
I read and studied, till they were so burned into my 
brain that I saw them in letters of fire written on the 
blackness of midnight ; studied them till I could read 
their treacherous meaning in every thing I looked at. 
They will never leave me. Shall I repeat them to you ? 
Shall I tell you the words which made me a desperate, 
woman, and will make me a murderess some day ? 
Words in which my husband spoke of another woman 
— that he calls his wife — as his idol, his beautiful 
child-bride ? ” 

“No? You don’t care to hear.” And she laughed 
a low mocking laugh that shook the listener to her 


124 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


very soul, and haunted her for many weary nights and 
days thereafter. 

“Well, there is not much more to tell, only that I 
determined to come to New Orleans and tear the 
flimsy veil from before your deluded heart, and tell you 
that he is not your husband, but mine — mine, do you 
hear?” And reaching forward she hurled these bitter, 
biting words in the face of the suffering girl who 
could only plead — 

“Don’t, O please don’t.” 

“ Well, I am going now, but my work is not yet 
finished, and you can tell him so. It was very diffi- 
cult to elude my sister and get here ; she is in his pay, 
and keeps me a prisoner. But I came all the same, and 
will come again. Good-bye. Don’t forget to tell him 
that Florry Bruce called on his bride.” 

Then making a mock curtsy to the terror bound Lucia, 
who sat as one transfixed, the cruel, enraged woman 
marched out of the room slamming the door fiercely 
after her. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

AS ONE WITHOUT HOPE. 

How long Lucia sat in that numbing, crushed atti- 
tude — crushed in heart and spirit — she never knew. 

Even the luxury of tears was denied her, and the 
hot aching eye-balls, staring so wildly into space felt 
like living coals of fire that would, by their intense 
heat, have consumed every drop of tear moisture which 
might be forced to their surface. 

The afternoon had passed, and the quiet of the early 


AS ONE WITHOUT HOPE. 125 

evening was calmly settling down upon her daintly ap- 
pointed room. Impelled by some wild impulse she 
sprang to her feet, and with her arms high extended 
in air, piteously wailed — “Robert, Robert — mine no 
longer. Just Heaven, help me to bear this blow, or let 
me die.” And with weak tottering steps, she crossed 
the small parlor and threw herself, face downward, 
midst a heap of cushions on the sofa. 

Each step without, stopped her breath, and sent the 
fever heated blood surging in a frenzy to her sorely 
tried brain. But she moved not a muscle : only lay 
mutely waiting for the footsteps which must stop on 
the threshold, and tell her her husband had come. 

At last, he turned the handle of the door and 
quickly entered the room, expecting to be met half 
way across its short length, by dimpled arms thrust 
round his neck, and soft warm lips pressed upon his 
own in welcoming kisses, which he had learned of late 
to expect and to like so well. 

The empty stillness of the room struck a chill to his 
heart, and drove the smile from his lips. Looking 
round for some sign of her who had filled this last 
month of his life with such glad sunshine, he only saw 
a still, shrinking mass of soft fleecy white, with a little 
disheveled head lying prone on the sofa. 

Fearing — he knew not what — he eagerty sprang for- 
ward and called “Lucia, my darling, my little wife, 
what is the matter? I am come, dearest, speak to me.” 

As she raised her face from the cushions, a face as 
white as her filmy laces, with dark circles under the 
eyes — eyes now black as midnight, and white, colorless 
lips which smiled him no welcome, he started back and 
cried — 

“Lucia, oh my darling wife, what is it? You are 


126 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


ill. Good God am I to lose you.” Then as he rushed 
toward the bell to summon help, she raised her hand 
and stopped him. 

“ No, no,” she said, “ no one must come, none must 
witness my misery, my disgrace. Oh Robert, you have 
broken my heart.” 

And with a great sorrowful truth gleaming from her 
dark terror stricken eyes, she sobbed, 

“ Oh Robert, why did you not tell me ? O, why did 
you so deceive me who trusted you so implicitly ? I 
shall die Robert, your treachery has broken my heart.” 

The room seemed to be suddenly whirling round 
him. He caught her cold hands in his, but she 
wrenched them away ; then dropping on his knees and 
burying his anguish stricken face in her lap, he 
moaned : 

“ Oh, Lucia, my darling, do you know it, and not 
from me ? Fool. Fool that I was not to have told you. 
But I had not courage, so fearful was I that you would 
not be mine, that I dared not risk your knowing it. 
Tell me my love, tell me who has been so cruel as to 
tell you before I could soften the blow to your tender 
heart.” 

In a voice made quiet by the calm of a great despair 
she said — 

“ Your wife, your true wife, Florry Bruce. 

“My God,” he called, staggering wildly to his feet. 
“Are you sure? Is it possible, that mad woman has 
been here ? Speak Lucia, speak, my darling, and tell me 
it was not she,” then seizing her in his arms, he fer- 
vently exclaimed — 

“ Thank God, you are alive. She has not hurt you, 
and she has homicidal tendencies too. Oh, my wife, the 
danger you have passed through,” and he would have 


AS ONE WITHOUT HOPE. 


127 


kissed her madly, joyfully, in the gladness of his heart 
that no harm had come to her, but Lucia pushed him 
from her with all her strength and said, 

“ Don’t kiss me. Don’t try to deceive me any longer, 
Robert. You are not my husband, you are hers. Oh, 
sweet Heaven ! what am I now that I am not his 
wife ? Yes Robert, I know all, you are her husband, 
and not mine, for I have read your signature to her 
marriage certificate, and know the worst.” 

Then covering her face with her trembling hands 
and rocking herself backwards and forwards, moaning 
all the while, “ not mine, not mine. Oh Robert just 
when I had learned to love you so, to lose you. And 
I believed so in your honor. Why did you go through 
that empty ceremony with me. To lie at God’s holy 
altar — I tremble for you, so deadly a sin have you com- 
mitted.” 

Falling again on his knees beside the sofa where she 
was half sitting, half reclining, and clasping her knees 
in his great loving arms, he pleaded — 

“Listen to me Lucia. You are still my wife, and 
will ever be my wife, my one true love. I am divorced 
from that mad, dangerous woman, and truly married 
to you my pure sweet wife. Divorced by the laws of 
my country and as free to marry you as though I had 
never known her.” 

■ “ Yes, your wife ” — and here she struggledas though 

the very words were scorching her frozen lips — “Yes, 

! your wife told me you had gone through the farce of a 
divorce. What is it worth ? Only as so much waste pa- 
per. She does not believe in the validity of a divorce 
any more than I do. How can your State laws be su- 
perior to Ecclesiastic laws ? I still believe you to be 
as much her husband now, as you were before the court 


128 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


gave you that piece of worthless paper. The sisters 
in the convent taught me that the Divorce Court is an 
institution of the devil to free men from their wives 
when they are tired of them, and I believe it,” she 
said excitedly, flashing her eloquent eyes upon him. 

Robert Bruce raised his face from his hands where 
he had buried it in sorrow, aye, even shame, and looked 
with surprise into the face of the woman he loved so 
dearly, and whose very nature seemed to be changing 
under her great affliction. Large tears filled his eyes, 
as he thought of the possibility of losing the love of 
this fair girl that had become so dear to him. 

“ Oh my darling, don’t look at me with such reproach 
and anger in the eyes which have always looked so 
fondly into mine,” he pleaded. “Don’t you know — 
can’t you imagine what I must be suffering now, when 
I remember that it was my great love for you that 
prompted me to keep the fact of my marriage and di- 
vorce a secret from you. Pity me darling and have 
mercy, for 1 unwittingly have brought this upon you.” 

As Lucia looked at the handsome, noble face that 
she had loved so well, and saw the deep agony engraved 
upon its every perfect feature, she covered her own, and 
hot burning tears steamed from her swollen eyes and 
dropped through her fingers upon his pleading, up- 
turned face. Suddenly she cried, “ Robert, oh, my dar- 
ling, my love, I know you suffer, but you don’t suffer 
alone. Is the grief and shame less for me than it is for 
you ?” she went on — 

“ Can you imagine my agony, my shame, my sorrow 
when that woman hurled her truths at me, and proved 
me not your wife by your own marriage certificate ? 
Were they not hard words for me to hear, when I had 


AS ONE WITHOUT HOPE. 


129 


given you the first of all that my heart held most sa- 
cred, most true and pure? ” 

With his arms wrapped about her waist, and the tears 
raining down his face, tears which did not disgrace his 
manhood, he said — 

“ Lucia, my dear wife, I have never knelt to 
woman before. I have never prayed, aye, even to 
Heaven as I now pray to you. You are more than 
my life to me. To lose your confidence, your trust, 
your love— would be more terrible than to lose my 
life, which I would gladly lay down any day to save 
you sorrow, or secure to you happiness. Forgive me 
dear heart, for that which seemed like imposition, and 
lay aside your prejudices for a time, and listen to me, 
dear, while I convince you that I was as free to 
marry you, as you, in the innocency of your young 
heart were to marry me.” 

Something in the tender, soft blue of his eyes, now 
running over with tears, touched her as they looked up 
at her with such an agony of entreaty in their pleading 
gaze, and made her fold her arms around his neck and 
whisper, “ Robert, Heaven knows I am not prejudiced, 
I only believe the teaching of my Church, and am more 
than willing to be convinced, if you have only one true 
argument in our favor darling. How happy I shall be 
to feel that I am your honest, true wife, you can only 
know by asking your own heart. How safe I felt when 
we were being married by my Church’s ceremonies ; 
for I did not feel that the tenets of your creed could 
make us as thoroughly man and wife as mine. And 
now to be told that I am not your wife by the very 
woman you married first, is indeed hard.” 

“ But you are my wife, my darling, my true, dearly 
loved wife. How T wish I had told you of my unfor- 
9 


130 


A BLONDE} CREOLE. 


tunate, foolish marriage, and subsequent divorce when 
I asked you to be mine under the white stars, that calm 
April night, not two months ago. It would have saved 
you all this sorrow, all these tears ; but I loved you so 
dearly, darling, that I had not courage to say one word 
which might part us. I knew the opposition your relig- 
ion makes to marrying one of its members to a di- 
vorced, but hoped to win your love so completely after 
you were mine — when I truly intended to tell you of it 
—and thought then to overcome your scruples and prej- 
udices by my great, all-absorbing love, and to make 
you see, not only the legality of my divorce, but the 
necessity for it.” 

Lucia’s great outburst of passionate weeping and tears 
— even angry tears — was exhausted, and looking into 
his face she said, 

“ Robert did you trust me so little, that you with- 
held your confidence before our marriage ? The facts 
then would have cut less deep into my soul, for I loved 
you less. But now after one month of perfect married 
life, and just when my love has burst into such perfec- 
tion, it is indeed hard to be told that I am not your 
wife. Had you told me then, we could have talked it 
over, and perhaps I could have seen with your eyes. 
We could even have waited for death to free you. I 
think my love would have stood the test of time, and 
known no change with the coming years.” 

Lucia forgot that it was she who had hastened on the 
marriage, and took for granted that Robert Bruce was 
a widower, and made no inquiries concerning his early 
life, so desirous was she to be rid of Frank Orlando. 
She had even forgotten his very existence and his dis- 
tasteful proposal, so completely were past, and lesser 
troubles absorbed by present and greater ones. 


AS ONE WITHOUT HOPE. 


131 


What terrible mistakes, and heart wounds, and sor- 
rows that eat into the very soul, would be spared us 
poor erring creatures, if we were always strictly hon- 
est, even in our love, and went to the altar with a con- 
science free from concealment. 

What anxieties would be spared, if a full confession 
were honestly made before marriage? There would 
then be no trembling at a hint, a word which in itself 
might mean nothing, but which might be the key to 
some fatal secret not revealed, the keeping of which is 
torture. Hard the acknowledgement would have been 
before, but not so hard as the consequences of not hay- 
ing made it. 

At Lucia’s seeming willingness to hear his too long 
deferred confession, and be convinced that he was hers 
alone, Robert got up from his knees and dropped into 
a seat beside her. 

With her hair loosed from restraint and falling about 
her shoulders and pale sad face in a glory of natural 
curls, and her head laid quietly — save for the quivering 
sobs — upon his breast, he began his confession. 

“ My little darling, when you have heard something 
of the trials and sorrows of my life, I know you will 
pity me and realize what joy has come to me with your 
love, and see how utterly dark it would be now without 
you.” 

“ Forgive me, my darling. My neglect to tell you all 
this before was a fault of judgment, not of the heart. 
My heart was yours, and is still yours, and will con- 
tinue to be yours, while I have life left to me.” 

Then bracing himself as for a mighty effort he told 
his story. 


132 


A BLOjSDE CREOLH. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A CONFESSION MADE TOO LATE. 

44 When I was a young man — about twenty-six years 
of age — I left my quiet little home in Connecticut and 
came South to go into business, or enter any enterprise, 
that promised a fair return for energy, pluck, and a 
small capital. 

44 1 had heard, from some friends, of the discovery of 
coal and iron ore in a small place in Alabama, which 
has since become the great thriving city of Birming- 
ham. I thought this was just the place for me, and 
started for the little settlement at once. 

44 Like all new places with a fame for quick money 
making, Birmingham was rapidly filling up with men, 
young and old, who had but one desire, and that was to 
make money as fast as possible. Cabins were erected, 
tents were staked, and cheap frail buildings called ho- 
tels, erected as near the mines as possible. No one 
seemed to care for the state of domestic discomfort 
which reigned supreme there. All they wanted was to 
get as much ore out of its native hiding place, as human 
hands could accomplish and ingenuity devise. 

44 1 put my money in a mine with several others, and 
went to work like a Trojan. We knew no hours, but 
worked with spade and pick till our tired frames de- 
manded rest. The sunrise never found me in bed, and 
I felt that I would have worked and delved all night 
too, had such a thing been physically possible, for our 


A CONFESSION MADE TOO LATE. 


133 


mine was giving a fine yield, and we saw nntold wealth 
in each foot of earth we cut into. 

44 The human system is a piece of fine mechanism and 
must be manipulated carefully. This I did not realize, 
but worked early and late, in wet clothes, or dry, in 
heat or cold, never caring for myself, only desirous of 
making money. The consequences were, that I was 
taken seriously ill, and had to 4 lay off.’ 

44 The doctor, who had been found at a great distance 
and brought at some trouble, said that I had over- 
worked myself, and from exposure had taken some 
local fever ; that I should never get well if I remained 
in camp, and if my life was worth anything to me, or 
anyone else, I must be moved to a place where I could 
be quiet and have good food and careful nursing. 

44 Of course the boys did not know where to take me, 
so the doctor suggested a farmhouse not far from his 
own place, where he thought I should get all the atten- 
tion that was required, and promised to let me know 
the. result of his enquiries next day. 

44 1 was more nearly dead than alive, on his next 
visit, but he told me and my partners, that the people 
were willing to take me for a certain moneyed consid- 
eration, and that if I could be wrapped up, he would 
carry me in his light buggy, and deposit me at the farm 
which he passed on his way home. 

44 1 was glad of the good jovial old doctor’s offer, for I 
knew the possibility of getting a conveyance to take 
me to the farm, had been a source of great concern to 
my pals in camp. 

44 The roads seemed to lead over all the tree stumps 
and roots in the country. Sometimes we were up so 
high on my side that I slipped down on the doctor, and 
at others he was quite on top of me, or we were driving 


134 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


through creeks, at which the old horse stopped to drink, 
making me envious of his privilege, for the fever was 
consuming me, and my head ached as though it would 
burst, and I so longed for a glass of cold water. Some- 
times I went nearly to sleep ; then a great lurch, as the 
wheel slipped into a “ wash-out ” in the road would 
wake me up with a start, only to repeat my enquiry, 
‘ if we were nearly there ? ’ 

“ At last the poor jaded beast came to a full stop, 
and to my intense relief the doctor joyfully exclaimed, 
4 Here we are ! ’ But I was too miserable even to look 
about me, and see what sort of a place he was bringing 
me to. In a moment he was down, and calling out 
cheerily, “ Here Jim, lend a helping hand, for I think 
my patient must be very tired and exhausted from this 
long jaunt and will appreciate the luxury of a feather 
bed and lavender scented sheets. Burning with the 
fever that was raging through my veins, and with my 
head so light and dizzy that I saw white stars between 
me and all I looked at, I shuddered at the heat a feather 
bed suggested, and longed to lay down on the round 
pebbles at the bottom of some of the pure fresh 
streams we had passed through, for I felt nothing else 
could cool my parched limbs. 

“ However the man answering to the cognomen of 
Jim,’ I soon learned was 4 mine host,’ and a very nice, 
sympathetic man he proved himself to be too. He 
fetched an arm-chair, and together he and the doctor 
put me in it, and carried me to a sweet cool room on 
the lower floor of the house, where they soon had me 
in bed. 

44 The necessity to retain my senses, and bear up as 
much as possible during the journey, now being re- 
moved, I yielded myself up to the sense of security I 


A CONFESSION MADE TOO LATE. 185 

already felt in my new quarters, and went off in a dead 
faint. 

“ The doctor brought me round after a time, but that 
night I grew worse, and raved in a wild delirium for 
many days and nights thereafter. 

“ My little darling, I cannot tell you of that early 
part of my illness, for I have no recollection of it what- 
ever,” said Robert, gently stroking the fair head laying 
so still upon his breast, 44 but it is of my conva- 
lescence I must speak, as it was then that all the mis- 
chief was done. 

“ One sweet calm day in summer when the birds 
were singing as though they would split their little 
throats, and the peach and cherry and plum trees were 
one mass of white and pink bloom, the doctor came and 
said — 4 Well, you may get up for a little while to-day, 
but mind you don’t overdo the thing.’ Of course I was 
glad, and old Uncle Phil was summoned to help me 
dress and get ready for this grand ‘ coming out ’ as it 
were, 4 Uncle Phil,’ as he was called by the family, but 
4 Bro’ Phil ’ by the members of his church to whom he 
4 held forth ’ sometimes — in lieu of the regular preacher 
who could not always put in an appearance, owing to 
the terrific state of the roads after a rain had fallen — 
was a fair specimen of a woolly headed old negro, so 
black that charcoal would have made a white mark on 
him. 

44 He seemed to be general 4 fac-totum ’ in the house, 
and was called on to do anything from nursing the 
baby to milking the cows. 

44 However he was a kind hearted old negro, and I 
was told, never seemed to sleep during my illness, but 
was awake at all hours to administer my medicine to 
the exact minute of time; which is a most unusual 


136 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


quality in a negro, who can sleep equally well in the 
blazing sun, or in the pelting rain. 

“ He was very pious, and constantly returned thanks 
to Heaven that I had been spared my life, and told me 
that 4 1 ought to dedicate the rest of my days to God 
and his service for His great goodness to me. 

“Well at last I was ready, and after drawing my 
chair near the window, and placing a glass of lemonade 
within reach, and a little bell on the window sill, Phil 
took his departure, saying as he left the room — 

“ 4 Da’ chile yo’ is comferable ; ef yo’ wants any ting 
jus’ ring, and Bro’ Phil will come, but I hope Miss 
Florry will come in to see if yo’ ain’t lonesome.’ 

44 It was not long before I heard a tap on the door. 
To my 4 come in,’ the door was gently pushed open and 
a tall, nice looking girl entered, and came up to where 
I sat. 

44 4 I am Florry,’ she said, ‘Florry Monroe. I thought 
it possible you might be lonely and came to see if you 
would like me to read to you, or chat a little. My 
sister is very busy this afternoon, and Jim is away, so I 
am come to entertain, or bother, you with my company, 
which ever way you are pleased to look at it.’ 

“ What could I say to her good natured attempt to 
make me less dreary, but assure her that I was de- 
lighted, and beg her to be seated ? 

44 As she sat down nearly opposite me and the win- 
dow, I noticed what fine grey eyes she had, and how 
regular and white her teeth were ; but was too weak 
to talk much, and after a short stay, she took her 
leave. 

44 The next afternoon when Uncle Phil had taken me 
up and I was seated again at the window, and had for- 
gotten all about my visitor of the day before — but it 


A CONFESSION MADE TOO LATE. 137 

was evident she had not forgotten me — for presently I 
heard her rap on the door, and in a few seconds she 
had taken a chair opposite me and the window, and 
was chatting quite pleasantly. 

“Well, she came every afternoon until 1 got to ex- 
pecting her, and then finally to longing for her, till 
one day I suggested I was strong enough to take a 
little walk in the garden. She offered to be my guide, 
and led me to a rustic seat under a large black mul- 
berry tree, the branches of which were weighed down 
with ripe luscious fruit. How I enjoyed that first out- 
ing no one can know, but those who have been kept a 
close prisoner to their bed and room, for two long 
months. 

“Well, you know Lucia, my sweet, that it is said, 
4 You have only to throw a man and woman together for 
a time, and they are bound to fall in love with each 
other, or at least to imagine themselves in love.’ 

“ That was my case. Florry Monroe — ” here Lucia 
shuddered, so perceptibly that Robert said, “ Are you 
cold sweet pet, or shall I leave the rest to tell another 
time?” 

“ No, no,” she answered, “ I am not cold, ’tis only 
her name, you know she told it to me herself. Please 
go on, I must hear it all now, and read my misery, or 
my happiness, in the conclusion.” 

Here he stepped to a side table and poured out a 
glass of wine which he tenderly put to her lips, and 
said, “ Drink this, my poor little child, you have much 
more to hear, and it may give you strength.” 

Then folding her closely in his arms, together they 
sat in the semi-darkness of the warm summer evening. 
The only light was that which came through the 


138 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


transom over the door, and the open windows from 
the brightly lighted street below. 

“Well,” he resumed, “its the old, old story, we 
were inseparable companions. I was young and weak, 
weak in body as well as resolve, and fancied myself 
desperately in love with her. I know now — since I have 
learned what my heart is capable of” — and here he 
pressed Lucia more closely to his heart — “that it was 
more gratitude I felt at the time, for all the kindness 
and attention she had lavished on me, than love. 

“ I thought she had become necessary to me, and 
hated to think of the time when I should leave her 
sister’s house, and be dependent upon myself for all 
the little comforts I was accustomed to receive from her 
willing hands. 

“ One day when I found I was no longer an invalid, 
and my affairs at camp needed looking after, I made 
up my mind to say, 4 good-bye ’ to these people who had 
proved themselves such good Samaritans to me. We 
took our last walk together, and I bade good bye to all 
the familiar haunts and places I had learned to like so 
well. 

“ As I sat perched on the top rail of a fence with 
Florry standing idly by, I looked down at her, and saw 
her — then— soft eyes, full of tears. This was too much 
for me. I have always been a tender hearted fellow, 
and the sight of this girl’s tears upset me entirely, and 
indeed upset my whole life, for I asked her to be my 
wife, and promised to return at a speedy day and marry 
her. 

“Well dearest, the sequel proves that she did not say 
4 no.’ 

44 So together we returned to the house, and I told 
her sister and brother-in-law, that Florry had promised 


A CONFESSION MADE TOO LATE. 139 

to be my wife, and that I hoped to return in one month 
to claim my bride. 

“ Her sister, Mrs. Clifford, did not seem as delighted 
at our engagement as I fancied she should be, but only 
said, 4 Florry knows I should prefer her not to marry 
at all, but if you are willing to take the responsibility — 
well I don’t see why /should complain. But she must 
tell you the reason.’ 

“ I thought at the time, 4 what a selfish woman Mrs. 
Clifford is, she cannot bear to part with Florry, because 
she is so much help to her about the house, and with 
her children.’ 

44 Well, that night when Florry and 1 were standing 
in the little vine covered porch, Mrs. Clifford’s words 
recurred to me, and I asked, 4 Florry, what did your 
sister mean when she said she would rather that you 
did not marry at all, but that you must tell me her 
reason ? ’ 

44 O, ’tis her nonsense. She has taken it into her 
head that my health is not good, and says I am not fit 
to marry and be the mother of children. But I am 
strong, only sometimes my head feels a little queer , 
that is nothing you know, everybody has something 
more or less the matter with them, do they not ? ” she 
asked. 

44 Is that all?” I laughed, 44 Well, I am quite ready 
to assume the responsibility,” and together we entered 
the house. 

“Next morning I took my leave, promising to return 
for my bride in one month.” 


140 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE CONFESSION CONTINUED. 

“ Of course there was the usual number of letters ex- 
changed between us, and at the end of the month 1 had 
sold out my share of the claim, and with a goodly pile 
of money at my bankers, went back to the farm and 
made my promise good by marrying Florry Monroe. 

“She was not a strikingly pretty girl, but her 
features were regular and good. Her expressive face 
was made almost radiant at times, by wonderful grey 
eyes which seemed to take on a variety of expressions 
and colors, according to the dictates of her moods.” 

Lucia caught her breath as she thought of the wicked 
green-grey, they had assumed that day while speaking 
to her, and felt, “ what venom must be in her nature to 
turn her eyes such a vivid green, and with what a 
deadly hate, she must hate me? ” 

But Robert did not know her thoughts, and only 
clasped her the closer as though he were protecting her 
from this enemy, as he continued — “ and her hair was 
very dark and plentiful. 

“ She was two years my senior, which made her 
twenty-eight, but she had such a slender girlish figure and 
such a quick springing step that she might have passed 
readily for twenty-three. 

“Well, I took her to the old homestead in Connec- 
ticut. to see my dear mother who was then living, and 
they became very good friends. This, of course, filled 
me with pride and pleasure. But one day my dear old 


THE CONFESSION CONTINUED. 141 

mother, who was exceedingly clever at all things, and 
very quick of perception came to me and said : 

Robert, my son, your wife is exceedingly nervous, 
and very hysterical; you must be careful and try to 
avoid all excitement for her. I don’t like the way she 
catches her breath, nor the continuous working of her 
fingers. It all tells of a badly balanced brain, and a 
tendency to hysteria which has been known to develop 
into insanity.’ 

“ I had noticed these symptoms in my wife myself 
but somehow or other, I did not want to acknowledge 
it to my mother, so only laughingly remarked, 4 What 
a clever doctor you would make, only you have failed 
in your diagnosis this time dear mother.’ 

“ I think my mother believed that I was like the boy 
who whistled through the churchyard to pretend 
he was not afraid, for she only went away nodding her 
shrewd little grey head at me and saying, ‘ Take care 
that I don’t turn the little laugh on you, and console 
myself with a woman’s logic, and say, 4 1 told you so.’ 

44 Ah, how often did I have occasion to think of her 
laughing remark. Poor, dear wise little mother ! she 
was a shrewd little Yankee and thoroughly ‘smart.’ ” 

For a minute or two, he said nothing, seemingly lost 
in thoughts of the past. Then recalling himself with a 
sigh he continued, 44 We had not been married three 
months when one day I came home to find Florence in 
tears and to hear that her sister had been to see her, 
and had tried her hardest to defame me and separate us. 

44 We had then returned from the north, and were 
living at one of the barn-like hotels in Birmingham 
where I had gone into politics, and was holding some 
trifling position under the existing administration as a 
stepping block to something higher. 


142 


A BLONDE CKEOLE. 


“ I was surprised to hear this, for I fancied her sister 
was exceedingly pleased when she found I was willing 
to marry Florence, after being told of her ill-health. 
Of course I was naturally incensed at the conduct of 
Mrs. Clifford, and told her husband so in a very indig- 
nant letter. 

“ Imagine my overwhelming surprise when he in- 
formed me by return post that his wife had never been 
absent from home, nor did she entertain any but the 
highest regard for me ! 

“ I scarcely knew what to say to Florence, but when 
I finally questioned her on the matter, found she knew 
nothing of the affair, and did not even remember hav- 
ing told me. 

“ When I looked the surprise I must have felt, she 
said — ‘ You know Robert I told you before our mar- 
riage, that sometimes I have queer feelings in my head, 
and imagine all sorts of strange incidents happening to 
me.’ 

“Yes,” I acknowledged, “you told me something of 
a strange feeling you had, but I don’t remember your 
telling me it affected you in this peculiar manner.” 

“Well, I was young, full of the new political life I 
had thrown myself into, and just married ; is it any 
wonder the incident passed from my mind ? 

“ However, it was not more than two months after 
this, when I returned to the hotel one day to find Flor- 
ence again in a great state of excitement. She declared 
a man had entered our rooms, and pushing her aside 
had rifled the drawers of all the money and jewelry, 
and was then hid under the bed. 

“ I at once took my pistol from its case and entered 
the sleeping room. Everything seemed quiet and reg- 
ular there, with not even a cat under the bed. I still 


THE CONFESSION CONTINUED. 


143 


did not remember the episode of the two months pre- 
vious, and searched the drawers to see what, and how 
much had been stolen. Everything was as I had left 
it in the morning, even to a valuable scarf-pin sticking 
in the cushion on the toilet-table. 

“ Calling her attention to this, she then declared he 
had been frightened away by the sound of my approach- 
ing footsteps, and had jumped out of the window. As 
it was closed, I could not see how he had used that 
mode of escape, especially as not a pane of glass was 
broken. 

“ Not until the next month when she was haunted b}^ 
some other absurd hallucination did the previous ones 
occur to me, and force the fact, that my wife was not 
right in her head, upon my startled senses. 

“ This alarming state of things went on — occurring 
regularly at intervals for two years, when a little boy 
was born. I hoped much that this event would be 
the means of restoring her, and settling the balance of 
her poor brain. But I was mistaken. At the time of 
his birth she was exceedingly ill, and knew nothing of 
the event. The child was a fragile nervous little 
thing, starting even in its sleep, and with its tiny little 
fingers working convulsively all the while like its 
mother’s. Happily he only lived three months, but by 
this time my wife had developed such decided insanity, 
that I was obliged to take her back to her sister, and 
beg her to attend to her, till I could decide upon some 
permanent future course. 

“ I went as frequently to see her as possible, but it 
was an inaccessible place to reach from Birmingham, 
and a rough, disagreeable journey altogether ; consum- 
ing much time that was very precious to me just then 
at the beginning of my political career, 


144 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


“However, one day I rode out to the farm, arriving 
just after dark. I found Florence was no better, and 
that she did not even remember for five minutes con- 
secutively that I was her husband, and yet she ad- 
dressed me by name and in a familiar manner. I tried 
to persuade myself that she was excited at my arrival, 
and would be calmer and more natural next day. But 
in this I was mistaken. 

“ During the night, I was awakened from my sleep 
by the sense of danger near, or the uncomfortable feel- 
ing one has, when they feel that some one is staring at 
them. I opened my eyes to see Florry standing over 
me with a large pair of stationer’s scissors in her hand. 
These were open and one blade was between her fin- 
gers, the other closed in her hand, forming a hilt-like 
handle to the other glittering poignard-shaped blade. 
Of course I was very much startled, and think the 
sense of danger held me spell-bound for a minute. 

“ While wondering what course to pursue with her, I 
looked her steadily in the eyes. This was the best 
thing I could possibly have done, for after a few min- 
utes she trembled visibly, then slowly left my bedside 
and returned to her own room. 

“I at once jumped up and bolted the communicat- 
ing door between our rooms. All sleep was now gone 
from my eyes, and putting on my slippers and dress- 
ing gown, 1 took my cigar case from my travelling bag, 
and sat down to smoke, and try to determine upon 
some course of action to pursue with my poor demented 
wife. 

“IIow ever I maintained my own equilibrium at 
that trying time T never could understand. For the 
State and City elections were drawing near and I 
was a candidate for Mayor to our rapidly growing city 


THE CONFESSION CONTINUED. 


145 


on the republican ticket, and had to address a meeting, 
or attend some political gathering nearly every night. 
That alone was hard work, and what with my domestic 
troubles I was nearly worn out when the election day 
drew near.” He here sighed deeply as the recollection 
of that sad time was forced upon him. 

Lucia had lain so still and quiet in his arms, that — 
except for a sigh or a quiver, as some incident or name 
was mentioned in his narrative — he might have thought 
her asleep. 

She now raised her hand and softly stroking his 
cheek, murmured, “ Poor Robert ! poor fellow ! what a 
sad life ; and you so young too. These trials would 
have been the ruin of some young men, and driven 
them to the false consolation of drink.” 

These pitying words from the girl he loved so well, 
brought the tears very near his lashes, and taking the 
little hand in his he kissed it rapturously, passionately, 
and whispered in a hushed breath, “ My little love, my 
comforter, I knew you would pity me, and forgive me 
when you heard what I had borne and what great prov- 
ocations I had for acting as I did.” 

But Lucia only shook her head sadly, resolutely de- 
claring — “ I forgive you for the sorrow all this has 
caused me, but that does not make wrong, right. But 
tell me the rest, I must know it all now.” 

Then he continued, “ Next morning we sent for the 
good old doctor who had first brought me to her sister’s 
house and who had known Florry from her girlhood. 
Together we held a consultation as to what was best to 
be done ; for Mr. Clifford declared he could no longer 
allow her to remain in the house. He was concerned 
for the safety of his family, for she had more than once 
been violent, and he was sure would harm the chij- 
10 


146 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


dren if she did not even commit murder, and they had 
been obliged to keep her closely confined while these 
attacks lasted. 

“ The doctor said he had seen it coming on ever 
since the birth of the child, and now advised that 
she should be placed under proper restraint and re- 
ceive proper medical treatment in some place, where 
they made such cases a specialty. 

u Of course he meant an Insane Asylum. So after a 
time we decided to place her in the Asjdum at Jack- 
son, Mississippi, with the understanding that she should 
be removed, and taken home to her sister again as soon 
as she was better, or it was safe to do so. 

“ The doctor then informed me that her affliction 
was the result of a fall she had received when a child, 
and that her severe illness at the birth of the baby had 
been the means of hastening the climax which would 
have surely presented itself soon or later. 

“ For several years she has had no outbursts of vio- 
lence, and has been living on the farm with her sister, 
to whom I pay an annuity for the care of her. 

“ The doctors all assured me that she would never 
completely recover her reason, and the most we could 
expect was, that with increasing years and a quiet 
peaceful life she would lapse into a mild insanity ; and 
this seems to be the case. But I cannot imagine her 
eluding their watchfulness and traveling all the way 
here unattended, with no accident befalling the poor 
creature. 

“ The first thing in the morning I must send a tele- 
gram to Mr. Clifford, for they will be dreadfully alarmed 
when they miss her, and I must report the facts to the 
police too.” 

Here he sighed, and thought, “ what a horrible ex - 


THE CONFESSION CONTINUED. 


147 


pose this will make if some newspaper reporter gets 
hold of the case.” He knew that all his friends believed 
him to be a widower, but he had not taken the trouble to 
correct the impression, for it would have involved much 
explanation, which he considered no one’s business. 

Breaking the silence, Lucia softly said, “She told me 
that she had hard work to elude her sister, and had 
watched for her chance many days.” 

“ Yes,” answered he, “ one of the peculiar features of 
insanity is the cunning they employ to accomplish their 
purposes. And the amount of patience they display is 
truly marvellous. They will wait days and weeks — 
even months, to execute a scheme so cleverly planned 
as to make one almost doubt their insanity, for a time. 

He paused again, then finally said, “ Can you not see 
my darling, that it was impossible for me to be her 
husband any longer ? The physicians assured me that 
she never would be well, and that it was more than prob- 
able her disease would prove hereditary, and that it 
would be wicked to entail this terrible affliction upon 
another generation, even if she became sane enough to 
be my wife and a mother, which was more than doubtful. 

“ These very same physicians advised me to procure 
a divorce, and offered to give me the requisite certifi- 
cate of her insanity, which was sure to secure me the 
‘ Divorce Bill,’ as it is called. 

“ But this I could not bring myself to do at once. 
It seemed cruel to desert her as soon as she had met 
with this calamity. Although I had never been very 
much in love with Florry, she was my wife, and the af- 
fliction none of her own accomplishing, but sent from a 
Providence whose wisdom we cannot fathom. 

“ This uncertainty went on for a few years longer. 
I was married — jet I had no wife. I was still young, 


148 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


and the best part of my life lay before me. But while 
I remained the husband of a poor unfortunate woman 
whose existence was but a living death, I felt weighted 
down, and unequal to the demands my rising career was 
forcing upon me. 

“ I was so unhappy, and so unsettled in my mind 
that I was fit for nothing. So one day I stepped on 
the train and went to Jackson to see her. She had 
changed in appearance very much since my previous 
visit. Her pretty dark hair was now cut short and 
plentifully streaked with grey, and her fine large eyes 
were far sunk in her head and looked quite wild. 

“ I talked to her, and called her by name. But it 
was a long time before I could make her remember me, 
and then her mind left the subject of my identity al- 
most immediately. She continued to talk so incoher- 
ently, and was so boisterously merry over imaginary 
things, that I decided then and there, to take advan- 
tage of the law, and free myself from this poor creature 
who was not even in a condition to comprehend, or have 
the most important event in her life explained to her. 

“ I went back to Birmingham with a heavy heart. 
But I determined to seek a divorce, not that I then 
thought to marry again, but I hoped it would free 
my mind from a burden which this tie to a mad wife 
seemed to create. 

“I sent for my lawyer, gave him the physicians’ 
certificate, and told him the particulars of the case. 
That was all the trouble I took in the matter, and 
after due time, he brought me the true ‘ Bill of Di- 
vorce.’ I paid him his fee, and there was an end to 
it, nor was there any publicity in the matter. Some 
way or other, people chose to think my wife was dead, 
and I let them think so,” 


WE WILL WAIT. 


149 


CHAPTER XXL 

“ WE WILL WAIT.” 

As the sound of life and movement about the hotel 
reached Lucia’s ears, and heralded the birth of another 
day, she slowly unclosed her tired eyes with a fearful 
sense of impending evil awaiting her. 

For a moment she was surprised to find she was not 
in her bed, and that she had slept all night on the sofa 
in her little parlor, with a traveling rug spread over 
her, and only the satin cushions for pillows under her 
head. 

She closed the tired lids over her eyes again, and 
tried to think. But she could not. She felt too weary, 
too much exhausted from the incidents of the previ- 
ous day to think even. 

Without an effort on her part — Aline occurred to her, 
and with a sigh she said, “ How glad I now am that I 
felt sympathy for that poor deceived girl. Our condi- 
tions are similar, yet very unlike.” And with a sigh 
for herself rather than Aline, she extended her arms 
from under the rug, and was surprised to see she had 
on the same dress she had worn the evening before, 
and that her bracelets were still on her wrists. 

She threw off the rug, murmuring, “I am so weary 
because I have slept in all my clothes ; I will take a 
bath and dress anew, probably I shall then feel better 
and be able to collect my thoughts.” 

As she passed through her chamber, she saw that the 
bed had not been slept in, and paused for a moment. 


150 


A BLONDE CEEOLE. 


“ Poor Robert,” she said sadly. “ That confession was 
hard for him, but it was harder for me, and all the re- 
sult of not making it fully, freely and honestly before 
— before — that — well, that last ceremony.” 

When Lucia returned to the parlor an hour later, she 
looked much refreshed, and very sweet and cool in her 
simple gown of soft white lawn, tied loosely at the 
waist with a cream} r Indian scarf. 

Save for the dreamy sadness in her soft chestnut 
eyes, and the pallor of her eloquent face, there were 
no other signs to tell of the fierce fire she had passed 
through the awful day before: except, perhaps, her 
languid step and movement, erstwhile so quick and light 
when she came to meet the man who had by his kind- 
ness and love, awakened her heart to a new nature, 
and taught her how nearly akin to love is admiration 
and esteem. 

When she entered the room Robert was already there, 
standing with his hands clasped behind him, listlessly 
gazing out the window. 

He went up to her frankly, but did not attempt to 
kiss her, only took her two little white hands in his and 
said — 

“ My child, my dear little Lucia, do not say any- 
thing, nor try to think just yet. I have ordered 
breakfast and it will be here directly. You must be 
very weak from your long fast, for neither of us 
thought of dinner last night. After you have had 
your coffee and eaten some breakfast, you may then 
say all you please.” 

This was a silent meal ; strangely unlike their pre- 
vious chatty little breakfasts. They commented upon 
the fine morning; but when it had been announced 
very fine, and accepted as such by the other — that 


“WE WILL WAIT/ 


151 


if 


topic was done. Other subjects fell just as flat, till the 
meal was finished and the things removed. But when 
the door was finally closed on the servant, Lucia turned 
to Robert and asked, 

How came I to sleep on the sofa all night ? ” 

“You did not sleep there all night. It was quite 
morning when I discovered you were asleep in my 
arms, and thinking you would be more comfortable in 
a less cramped position, I quietly laid you down, and 
as the morning was growing cold, I put my rug over 
you. Poor little pet you were very much exhausted, 
and never stirred till you awoke this morning,” he 
said, looking at her with kindness beaming from out his 
fine eyes. 

“ Where did you sleep Robert,” she asked, “ I see the 
bed lias not been disturbed.” 

“ I sat in the arm-chair watching, for I was afraid yon 
might tumble off your narrow bed in trying to turn 
over.” 

“ How kind you are to me Robert,” she sorrowfully 
said. Then as she looked back upon the happiness of 
the past month and recalled the many acts of tender 
care and loving thoughtfulness that had been lavished 
upon her, and which she must now either give up, or 
lead a sinful life — as her religion told her it would be, 
to live with him as his wife, while that unfortunate 
woman still lived — she breathed a deep quivering sigh, 
as though her very soul were being torn from her, and 
her eyes grew so heavy with unshed tears, that she saw 
everything through a mist. 

“ Am I, my little darling ? ” he smilingly questioned. 
“It is because I love you so. You are so dear to me, 
that I am only happy when I am doing something for 
you.” 


152 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


These endearing words were very welcome to her 
poor lacerated heart, albeit her conscience reproved her 
for the joy the words gave her. And folding her hands 
tightly over her heart, she closed her eyes for a minute, 
and prayed earnestly for guidance and strength to act 
aright. 

A silence which is holy in its eloquence sometimes 
settles down on tired weary souls, and gives them a re' 
freshing draught of peace and calm. Such a silence, 
and such a calm had settled for a few blissful minutes 
over the weary, troubled spirits of these two, the un- 
happy sports of Fate. 

As Lucia made no reference to the incidents of the 
day before, or his confession, Robert hoped from his 
very aching heart that she had been convinced, and 
was willing to acknowledge his divorce and their mar- 
riage valid. So in a voice made low by excessive earn- 
estness — tinged with not a little fear for her answer, he 
asked, as he took a seat beside her — 

“ Lucia, my darling, do you remember what I told 
you last night of my unfortunate marriage and di- 
vorce ? ” 

“ Yes, Robert, every word of that unhappy history,” 
she answered with a perceptible shudder. 

“ Well, dearest, are you not* now convinced that 
Florence could no longer be my wife and the mother 
of my children, and that my divorce was a legal and 
just one, and that you are my true wife?” 

“ No, Robert, I am not convinced, and I feel more 
certain than ever that I am not your wife, and am try- 
ing to brace myself to tell you that we must part, and 
wait for death to free you from this unfortunate tie, be- 
fore ” 


“ What? ” he ejaculated, springing to his feet, and 


153 


“ WE WILL WAIT.” 

not waiting to hear what she would say. “ What 
Lucia ? You don’t mean to tell me you still think you 
are not my wife. Oh, my little child, don’t tell me we 
must part, for it will break my heart. I will not give 
you up. You are mine by the laws of the country and 
the ceremony of your church, what can you want to 
make you more fully my wife ? ” 

“ Oh, Robert, my love, don’t make my task harder 
than I can bear by shutting your eyes to the truth. 
You knew right from wrong, and you knew it was more 
than wrong, it was positively *wicked to lead me before 
God’s altar and promise to be my faithful husband un- 
til death parted us, when you knew that you had a 
poor unfortunate wife living, to whom you had already 
sworn the same vows. You must have known, dear, 
that our church does not recognize divorces, nor marry 
its children to divorcees. I fancied all denominations 
knew that of us. If you were in any doubt on the 
matter why did you not go to some pious priest and 
ask his advice. Or even to dear old Doctor Orlando, 
he would have told you that you could not marry me 
in our church.” 

Robert had thought once or twice of going to the 
Doctor, and frankly telling him of his previous mar- 
riage. But his heart had told him what the Doctor’s 
answer would be, and he knew by it that he should lose 
the girl whom he had learned to love so dearly. He 
also knew he was very rash in marrying her while she 
was ignorant of his past life ; and unwise in hoping to 
convert her to his thinking after they were married, or 
in trusting that the Doctor might never know of it. 

But he only moaned, “ Listen to me, my darling, lis- 
ten to my argument and be convinced that you are my 


154 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


dear wife, as truly now as you were before Fate sent 
that cruel woman here to ” 

“ No, no, Robert. It was not Fate, but God, who 
sent her to me with proof in her hand to show that she 
is still your wife, and that I am — ah just Heaven what 
am I ? ” And burying her face in her hands she wept 
aloud. “ I have been so happy Robert, so happy in my 
ignorance. Now what shall I do ? for I cannot see the 
hand through the present darkness, which must be 
pointing me to the path of truth and right. Poor dear 
old maman how she would weep if she knew what her 
poor unhappy foster-child is suffering. She must not 
know yet. I will write her, for I could not stand her 
misery and mortification. I cannot see her, poor dear 
old maman. She predicted something of this. Yes, 
Robert, when my god-mother learned that I was going 
to marry you, a Protestant, she said no happiness could 
result from the marriage, unless you became a convert 
to the one true faith. And how confidently I told them 
that I would make a good Catholic of you. Oh, 
Robert,” she said in a piteous voice, “ what a sea of 
sorrow and mortification your cowardice and selfishness 
has forced me into ? ” 

“ My dear little wife— yes, you are my wife,” he pro- 
tested, as she slowly shook her head. “ It is true dear, 
I could not even bear to think of the possibility of los- 
ing your love. I must now— if it is even too late — ac- 
knowledge that my conscience told me I was acting the 
part of a N coward in marrying you without telling you 
something of my past life. Forgive me dear, forgive 
me, and I will do all in my. power to atone for the 
errors of the past. But don’t say you are not my hon- 
est and honored wife, for it kills me to hear vou say so. 
Oh Lucia, my love, tell me that you are still mine. 


WE WILL WAIT. 


155 


<( 




And don’t look at me with eyes from which all love- 
light has flown, but pity me, and have mercy.” 

“Be calm my dear, and listen to me,” she said. “ It 
is hard that now in this trying time I should be obliged 
to be the stronger, the most resolute of the two. But 
last night I listened — God only knows how intently I 
listened to your sad story of the past, every word of 
which was as molten lead dropped into my heart ; how I 
listened for some extenuating cause for your procuring 
of the divorce. But I found none. No, don't start, 
don’t speak dear,” she said putting up her hand to stop 
some word on his lips. “ I listened eagerly, hoping for 
some argument to prove my doubts away, but you gave 
none, dear. You did not argue the case Robert, you 
only stated facts, which Heaven knows were sad 
enough, but no convincing argument did you present 
to prove that that poor afflicted woman, had done any 
wrong of herself to justify you in divorcing her. I was 
wicked enough to hope that you might prove her in the 
wrong, or that she had committed some heinous crime 
whereby you might have been justified in putting her 
away. But you did not Robert, you only showed that 
she was suffering from the result of an accident which 
might have happened to you, to me, or to any one, and 
which came from a source we dare not question ? ” 
Pausing for a moment, and looking him sadly in the 
face she continued, “ Can you not see how hard it was 
for her to know another had been put in her place as 
soon as misfortune had waylaid her ? And is it not 
hard for me too, to have her step between us and turn 
my beautiful pure love into sin ? To place herself be- 
tween your heart and mine, and thrust me aside by the 
right of plighted vows made years ago, turning my 
own and yours into a farce ? ” 


156 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


“ When you married her you promised 4 to love and 
cherish her in sickness , and health ; for better, for worse, 
for richer, for poorer, forsaking all others and clinging 
only unto her so long as you both should live.’ That 
vow was not made for fair weather and plain sailing. 
But as soon as the woman was overtaken by sickness , 
you deserted her and took refuge in a divorce. The 
country’s laws had no right to give it, for you had 
publicly registered a vow to remain by her in sickness , 
for better, for worse , and when it was decreed by the 
inevitable, that it should turn out for the worse, you 
allowed the law to absolve you from the vow you had 
made to God, and practically forsook her. I am heart- 
ily sorry Robert to have to say all this of you, whom I 
have always thought the very soul of honor. And I 
yet think you are noble and good, and will not try to 
persuade me to do that which my heart, and teaching 
tells me is morally wrong.” 

44 1 know also Robert that it is a fearful thing for you 
to think that you are bound to a mad woman, until 
death parts you. But madness is a disease, is a sick- 
ness, and as you made no exception or specified the 
class of sickness through which you would remain 
faithful, I don’t see how you are absolved from your 
vow now that she has been overtaken by this most 
awful of afflictions. Your marriage has certainly 
proved to be for the worse, instead of the better. Poor 
woman, she truly is to be pitied, for now that she 
seems to be a little more rational and realizes that she 
is forsaken, it is enough to make her worse, even to 
raving. I wonder now that she did not try to kill me 
yesterday.” 

This last remark Lucia made as though it were no 
awful thought to be killed by a maniac. 


“WE WILL wait: 


157 


Bat Robert, whose head had been buried in hishands 
whilst Lucia in her excitement poured forth these bitter 
truths as though she were inspired, shuddered as he 
realized the truth of her assertions, and inwardly 
thanked his God that the girl so dear to him, had not 
been a victim to the jealous rage of a mad woman and a 
deserted wife. 

In a voice made steady by the calm of a great de- 
spair, he said, “ You certainly do not love me Lucia, or 
you could never use such arguments to free yourself 
from me, or to prove that you are not my lawful wife. 
If your love was one-tenth of what mine is you would 
defy all the laws existing of Church and State, to be my 
• wife.” 

“Do not accuse me of want of love for you, Robert. 
In your heart you must feel that my love for you is 
very sacred, so sacred that I do not want to feel it is 
polluted by being only in part your wife. The law may 
recognize me as such, but I want it sanctified by my 
Church as well. Do not love you ? ” she questioned 
vehemently. “Would to Heaven I loved you less, 
then it would be less hard to give you up. Oh Robert ! 
I do love you, love you with my whole soul.” And 
while the tears rained down her soft cheeks, she took 
his hand in hers and in a whisper said: 

“ Robert, my poor dear darling, this is very hard, 
hard for you, and hard for me.” 

Seizing her in his arms, he rapidly said, “You are 
mine and nothing shall part us. Mine while you and 
I live, my wife.” Then more calmly — “ Lucia, the 
mischief is done. Still be mine, remain by me and our 
friends need never know of this. You love me dar- 
ling, and I worship you ; the world would be naught 


158 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


without you my darling, my life, my love. Ah, the 
world is well lost for such love as mine.” 

“Robert, what you wish, can never be. Every hour 
you remain with me is a wrong to her, and a sin. We 
cannot even be intimate friends, for there is no medium 
place on which our love can find shelter, nor do I wish 
for such a place dearest, you must be to me all in all, 
or nothing at all till we can come together with a true 
knowledge that no sin, or dishonor exists between us. 
And I must put temptation even, far from us. My 
poor Robert, my darling love, know that this is best, 
we must wait and hope dear. But your noble, true 
heart will tell you that I am right.” 

Then with a strong resolve glowing from her grand 
brown eyes, she freed herself from him and pleaded, 
“ Robert, help me to do that which we both know to be 
right. Please do not be my evil genius, do not tempt me 
any longer to do that which I feel from my soul would 
be wrong. How could I respect you, or love you, dear, 
if I thought you were the cause of my living in daily 
sin ? ” 

“ I love you, Robert, with all the strength of a newly 
awakened nature, loved you when I married you, but 
not with one hundredth part of the love with which I 
love you now. I love you better than anything in life 
— except, my honor, my self-respect and the teaching 
of my Church, which I know cannot err. Were we to 
continue as husband and wife we might be happy while 
we were young, and the glamour of a passionate love 
was fiercely coursing through our veins and stifling the 
voice of conscience, but should we be happy when 
youth and its follies had settled into mature middle 
age, or the thinking, prosaic older age which must fol- 
low? No, believe me, dearest, I am right. You too 


“WE WILL WAIT.' 


159 




will think so some day I hope. Aye, I feel sure you 
will. We will wait Robert, wait for the end. Wait for 
death to free you. T will be as true to you as steel, as 
true as the air is to the birds which soar so confidently 
through its liquid density, as true as the pure crystal 
water is to the creatures within it. As true as 
a fond heart that has love and honor for its load star, 
can be to its mate. Yes we will wait Robert, and I 
will help you to keep your vow.” 

Her voice had now sunk to a plaintive whisper, but 
the clear low tones touched his very soul and he 
bowed his head as the sturdy oak is bent before the 
tempest, and with a voice broken by grief and tears, he 
said, “ My darling I know you are acting upon a grand, 
a noble principal, and not from prejudice. I cannot 
help loving you more, and admiring you for the 
strength of character which you exercise in this ter- 
rible ordeal. I feel that I have not strength to give 
you up of my own free will, yet I am candid enough to 
say that you are doing right in living up to the teach- 
ing of your religion; and the standard of honor which 
your conscience suggests to you is the right one. Had 
I obeyed its dictates — the dictates of my conscience — 
months ago, perhaps, we both should have been spared 
this agony of suffering.” 

“ I see now the mischief has all been done through 
the concealing of facts and faults, which should have 
been candidly confessed at a time when the secrets of 
both heartss hould be made known : and a new life begun 
with no turned down pages, nor skeletons hidden away 
in dark closets. Had Mrs. Clifford told me how serious 
was Florry’s affliction, or the sad results which were 
likely to arise from it, I certainly never should have 
married her, but she comforted her conscience with the 


160 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


thought that I was not being deceived, by bidding 
Florry tell me. The poor girl either did not herself 
know how serious the matter was, nor what awful con- 
sequences might be the result, or she was so desirous 
of marrying me, that she willingly concealed the truth. 
But this I cannot believe, for she scarcely seemed her- 
self aware that it was a serious matter.” 

44 Yes, Lucia, all our suffering and disappointment is 
founded upon the one fact concealed from me at my first 
marriage ; that I was marrying a woman who was 
doomed to insanity. They deceived me, and — perhaps 
— I deceived you, but God knows I did not mean it as 
a deception.” 

“ Can you forgive me, Lucia ? for T feel now that I 
can never forgive myself, and it breaks my heart to 
know that my cowardly fear of losing you, (my only 
excuse) proves me an impostor, and that I must lose 
you now, as I see by your sweet truthful face ; and at 
a time when I cannot return you to what I found you ; 
but, Lucia, you are mine, mine in heart and spirit, and 
will ever be true to me, and help me to await the end ; 
will you not, my darling, my ever noble little wife ? ” 

And Robert Bruce felt in his heart that the time had 
come, when for one youthful folly he must suffer all 
the rest of his days ; must give up the truest and best 
love of his life, and abide his soul in patience for the 
turning of the great wheel of Fate, which he hoped 
would snap asunder ties too strong for his human 
strength. 

As Lucia gazed into his kind face, and saw the lines 
that pain, and disappointment, and sorrow, had already 
chiseled on his broad brow, her voice trembled and quiv- 
ered and only intense resolve, and a strong will kept 
back the passionate fit of weeping, struggling in her 


“WE WILL WAIT. 


161 




breast to have vent. But she said — with a voice as 

of one taking leave of their dear dead 

“ Yes, Robert, my own love, I forgive you from my 
innermost aching heart, and will be true to you as long 
as God in his mercy spares us to wait for the end, which 
must come to all, some day.” 

He looked into her face for one moment, as though he 
would photograph her every varying feature upon the 
lenses of his heart and memory. Then quickly, rap- 
turously seized her, and folding her to his heart, while 
between passionate fiery kisses pressed upon her brow, 
her eyes, her lips, he murmured, “ God bless you my 
darling, ever mine, and make me more worthy of you.” 

And in that one exquisitely sad moment, she glanced 
up at his expressive face alternately flushing and paling 
with intense emotion, while his gentle blue eyes were 
flooded with love and tears — and some instinct told her 
that this was their final parting. 

11 










































































BOOK II. 


CHAPTER I. 

WEARIED AND FOOTSORE. 

The crimson and gold of the leaves in Madison 
Square, foretold that summer was fading from earth 
once more, and that the soft fleecy mantle of Heaven’s 
ermine would soon en wrap all nature in its warm folds, 
protecting alike both bud and insect, from the bleak 
winds of the North: 

Shivering, Lucia drew her dainty little wrap more 
closely about her shoulders, to keep out the blasts which 
rushed in mad gusts along the streets and through the 
trees of the square, whirling their bright leaves of au- 
tumnal tints to her feet, and in her face ; and walking 
a little faster, mentally said, 

“ I suppose if I persist in remaining in this severe 
climate during the winter, that I must buy a heavy 
wrap to keep out the 4 Ice king’s breath,’ but I do not 
see how I am to manage it, for my money is so nearly 
gone.” Then looking down at her feet — “ Yes, I must 
have some heavy boots too. These thin soled French 
shoes are not the thing for tramping through the streets 
from morning till night, in search of that which I never 
find. I think I have answered every advertisement in 
the papers for a teacher of music, Italian, and French, 
yet some way or other I fail to please. What shall 

( 163 ) 


164 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


do, for I am so weary, and my money is so nearly 
gone? ” 

“Oh, liow hard it is to do right! Sometimes I won- 
der if I have done right — oh yes, I knoiv I have — but 
still, somehow, doing right doesn’t seem exactly, and im- 
mediately, to bring brilliant reward. But I suppose as 
4 virtue is its own reward,’ I must not expect any other.” 

“Ah me ! one bit of my life is now over, and I must 
wait, wait till I can once more take up the threads in 
the woof and warp of my broken life with Robert, and 
perhaps — who knows ? we may yet be a happy ‘ Darby 
and Joan.” ’ And trying to smile down the weary sigh 
of disappointment which was forcing itself to her lips, 
she bravely trudged along through the chill autumn 
winds, as though her warm Southern blood was not be- 
ing chilled to the very bone. 

When Lucia left Robert Bruce and her sunny South- 
ern home, nearly five months before, to earn her living 
by teaching in New York, she was prompted by the 
highest and purest motives, and was full of a noble de- 
termination to live up to the code of right, which her 
conscience dictated was the correct one. 

She knew from her heart’s warnings that she dare 
not remain in New Orleans, within reach of the man 
whom she had learned to love so well, for she was 
afraid of her own weakness, and could not trust her- 
self. No, she had a principle, and if she was deter- 
mined to live up to its standard, she must remove 
herself from temptation’s way, for she dare not run 
the risk of meeting Robert Bruce. She knew that 
should he look into her face with the lovelight in his 
great blue eyes, and plead with her as only he could 
plead, to accept the law as his deliverer, and again be 
his wife, she must obey the promptings of her affee- 


WEARIED AND FOOTSORE. 


165 


tionate heart, and make herself, as well as him, su- 
premely happy, even if she sacrificed all a woman holds 
dear and sacred, for a few months more of such perfect 
bliss as was hers, during that one fateful, memorable 
month, when she thought herself his wife. 

She well knew “ that the woman who hesitates is lost,” 
and dared not trust herself for one short day of reprieve 
even, but came at once to the great overcrowded city of 
New York, where she hoped it would be easy to find 
employment among its cosmopolitan citizens. 

Hers was only the “ old, old story.” The very fact 
of its being overcrowded should have told her the 
competition would be greater. How many courageous 
young women, and brave young men have gone to its 
bright allurements, hopefully, even joyfully, only to 
end their disappointments in one of the mighty rivers 
that wash its shores on every side. 

Lucia knew nothing of money, nor of its relative 
value. She thought she was quite rich when she ar- 
rived in New York with a little more than two hundred 
dollars in her purse. Of course it was a great deal 
more than many possessed who had gone there to seek 
their fortunes, aye, and found it too. But it was not 
much for a pretty, inexperienced girl, fresh from the pala- 
tial luxuries of a New Orleans Hotel, and fond indul- 
gence of a loving husband. 

After a week or two, she realized that she must re- 
trench somewhat, and moved to a fashionable boarding 
house in a fashionable neighborhood. This was scarcely 
less expensive than the hotel at which she had been 
stopping. By frequent countings of her money and 
calculations, she found it necessary to leave even this 
comfortable house, where she had boarded long enough 
tp become acquainted with its mistress, and her active 


166 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


stirring daughter. She had moved from place to place, 
till now she was living in furnished apartments, and 
trying to do her own cooking on the common kitchen 
stove. 

At such times, when her heart was sad unto weeping, 
would she regretfully think of the dainty little dishes 
that old black Aunt Phillis was wont to send up 
from the Doctor’s kitchen ; and shut her teeth hard, 
and blink her eyes briskly, to keep back the tears and 
sobs which ever seemed to be so near the surface now. 

When she first came North she was not discouraged 
at failing to procure an engagement at once, for she 
was assured that “ everybody was out of town ” ; but 
when they began to return in September, “ it would be 
easy to secure scholars then.” 

But September had come and gone, and October 
found her as far from the goal of her desires as she had 
been during the summer. She had walked to addresses 
given in advertisements — because she could no longer 
afford to patronize the street cars — till she was wearied 
and footsore ; she had spent her money for notices in 
the daily papers, and in registering her name in differ- 
ent agencies, whose success in procuring situations for 
teachers and governesses, she was assured had “ never 
failed,” till at last, she no longer dared to count the 
few weeks rent her money would pay for. 

She sat brooding and alone, in the solitude of her one 
little room, made tidy by her own hands, and as home- 
like and bright as the well-worn furniture could be 
made to look by the addition of photographs, pincush- 
ions, and little trifles that had found their way into her 
trunk when she left the South; gazing into the fire, 
the light of which tried to lend a glow of color to the 
sombre room, but which had only succeeded in catching 


WEARIED ANI) FOOTSORE. 167 

the meshes of her golden hair, and making the girl the 
brightest bit of coloring in the lonely chamber. 

Lucia knew that she grieved and thought too much ; 
but how could she help it, when her life seemed to be 
one long succession of disappointments and sorrow? 
She also knew that work was the panacea for home- 
sickness, for soul sorrows ; but even this consolation 
had been denied her. Could she only find some em- 
ployment whereby she might ease the ache of heart 
and brain, how gladly she would throw her whole soul 
into it. Oh if thought would but cease, and calm come 
to her once more ! But peace and rest was so far away 
now. 

She seemed to have no definite plans. All she knew 
was, that if she still wished to remain independent of 
her friends, she must increase her small sum of money 
in one way or another. But how ? That was the ques- 
tion. She could no longer choose by what means. 

It seemed that she was destined to get no scholars, so 
she must think of something else. But what? What 
could she do to make money, to make money enough to 
pay her expenses. Now that winter was coming on 
she would require more than in the summer. She must 
have fuel and lights, even a heavy wrap, and these all 
required money. Her life, the life of independence 
that she had dreamed of and had created for herself, 
seemed to be fast crumbling beneath her feet. Her 
courage and buoyancy were long since gone ; and every 
avenue seemed closed to her. 

As she sat thus gazing into the fire, which grew 
duller and blacker every minute, but which she did not 
attempt to renew, her thoughts took a long backward 
leap. 

Regularly she retraced in rapid mental pictures every 


168 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


incident of her life through the nineteen years of which 
she had lived. 

Of her very earliest childhood she knew nothing. 
She could not remember her mother. She had a con- 
fused dream-like remembrance of a pretty yellow haired 
lady, and a black haired, dark eyed woman, who were 
both kind and loving to her. She could not separate 
them in her mind, and yet they were so essentially op- 
posites. She knew of course, from others, that the 
lady with the yellow gold hair was her mother, but her 
recollection was clearest of the dark one. She had a 
more distinct remembrance of her father, of his kind- 
ness and love for her, and then of his death. She even 
thought she could remember the sorrow this caused 
her. How she nearly wept her little heart sore the 
first night she was put to bed by strange hands, in a 
strange house. How she missed the strong arms of the 
dear kind parent who had always held her on his lap, - 
and sung her to sleep every night. Yes, she remem- 
bered coming to her new home, after they had carried 
him so cold and helpless from their little house. 

Then she thought of the sturdy black-eyed boy she 
met in the new home, and who was so kind and sympa- 
thetic to the sorely bereaved little child that had been 
forced upon them by such sad circumstances. As she 
lingered over this sorrowful picture of her childlife, her 
soft brown eyes filled with tears, and she wondered 
why a wise Providence had not taken her to her dear 
parents at that time, and thus saved her all her present 
misery. 

The epoch in her childhood, which stood out most 
clear and distinct, was her life at the Convent at 
Donaldsonville and the sisters ; those gentle sisters who 
had taken the place of mother to the lonely desolate 


WEARIED AND FOOTSORE. 


169 


child ; two of whom had passed away since then to re- 
ceive their reward. 

Then the coming back to the Doctor’s home, and 
that one glad * care-free year, before Frank Orlando 
poisoned all her joys by offering her his love, the love 
that already belonged to another. This insult, at the 
time, gave her such supreme misery as she thought 
could never be hers again. Ah ! how trifling it now 
seemed when compared to that other awakening, which 
was the very refinement of suffering and agony. 

And then he came — yes, Robert came, and offered 
her a new life, a refuge from what she then thought 
was more than an ordinary nature could bear. Then 
came — yes — and her sad lips took on a tender smile — 
then came the happiest moments of her life ; happiness 
so great, so entrancing that she lived another existence. 
Bliss so perfect was hers that her whole soul, her entire 
being was lost in its enjoyment. 

Then the awakening. As the smile died from her 
lips, the soft eyes were suffused with pain and tears, 
and she sighed. “ Ah me ! what have I done that my 
lot should be harder than that of other women ? There 
are some who care so little for the love of a good man, 
or a true husband, and yet they have both these bles- 
sings ; whilst I should have been so gladly happy to 
have kept mine, if Heaven had decreed that he should 
have been mine in honor and truth, to the end of my. 
life.” 

“ Ah, that rude awakening. That fearful tearing 
asunder of all confidence, all peace, all happiness ! 
And the fearful waiting for the end which may never 
come; never reinstate me to the degree from which I 
have fallen — aye, been torn rather.” 

She wonders with a shudder how she has ever lived 


170 


A BLONDE CBEOLE. 


through it; and yet she has. She now believes with 
some people, that grief cannot kill. 

To-night as she sits alone, thinking of her dear foster- 
parents, and their pleading letter for her to return to 
them, she cannot keep the wayward tears under re- 
straint, and in a fit of mad weeping questions her wis- 
dom in remaining here alone and in distress, when she 
knows their arms and their hearts are open wide to re- 
ceive her. She dare not let them know her address, or 
she would never be strong enough to resist their loving 
affectionate letters; and in the occasional ones she 
writes them, she is very careful not to mention her 
sorrows or her tribulations, lest the dear old Doctor 
come himself to seek her, or send Frank to bring her to 
them at once. 

And she tells herself, “ were it not for Frank, she 
would go home to them. But how can she bear to see 
him and the light of gratified revenge which she feels 
he will shoot from out his black eyes at her disappointed 
life. This she knows would be more than she could 
endure. She knows she had hastened her marriage 
with Robert Bruce to pique Frank, and now that she is 
no longer his wife, and having rejected the young Cre- 
ole’s offer with so much scorn, she cannot humble her- 
self to return to his parents. Besides, they have done 
all for her that she could expect. The little money her 
own father had left, was used for her education, and 
during the year she remained with them, they had been 
most liberal and kind, but she had severed many obli- 
gations when she married and left their house, and did 
not see how sho could well return to them again. It 
was impossible to take up the old life where she had 
lain it down, and as she opposed their wishes, and mar- 
ried to suit herself, she did not see how she could re- 


WEARIED AND FOOTSORE. 


171 


turn and accept their hospitality ; especially since she 
had come away so sanguine, and been so determined to 
earn her own living. Yet in her heart she longed for 
the dear loving sympathy of her foster-mother, espe- 
cially to-night when she was so wretchedly weary, and 
her brain so grief laden. But with her own heart she 
was forced to be honest, and could not but admit, that 
the shame of meeting Frank Orlando was the strongest 
reason for her not doing as did the prodigal son. 

How happy, and gay, and proud she had felt that 
bright spring day when leaving his parent’s house, her 
parents in all save name, on the arm of her handsome 
husband. Yes, she would show Frank that his was not 
the only offer she had received. Ah me ! but “ pride 
always goes before a fall,” and she had to acknowledge 
that her fall was great, and no longer felt any pride in 
her heart, only humility and disappointment and biting 
sorrow. 

It was but natural that while thinking of Frank — 
Aline should recur to her. And so she fell to wonder- 
ing if they were married. “Yes,” she tells herself, 
“ now that I am removed from their path, of course he 
will marry her — or he should do so at any rate, if only 
for the sake of the poor little child ; I wonder if Aline 
pities me now, as I pitied her then ? ” 

“ How strange that I should come between the hap- 
piness of two women, between them and their hus- 
bands : and all the while so innocent of the sorrow I 
was making for them, and for myself too.” 

u Ah dear Heaven ! Fate has been very cruel to me. 
I wonder if I shall grow old, craving the love I dare 
not drink when the cup is held to my thirsting lips ? 
Surely my happiness is held in a Tantalus cup.” 

And as she aroused herself from this lethargy of 


172 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


cruel thoughts, she rose from her seat, and with her two 
hands, pushed the hair from off her tired brow, and 
with the dying firelight spitefully flashing in her sad, 
but beautiful face, she prepared to seek the much 
needed rest for her aching limbs, and reprieve from her 
ever recurring torturing recollections in sleep, which 
was now so often driven from her eyes and brain, by the 
demons of remorse and disappointment, that ever stood 
near to mock her. 


CHAPTER II. 

“don’t reproach me viva.” 

But how fared it with Robert Bruce all this while ? 
Was he less miserable than the beautiful young woman 
who had given up his love through a sense of honor 
and a desire to do right, and was fighting her way 
through poverty and disappointment among strangers 
in a stranger city ? 

No, we can truly answer for him. 

He was as supremely wretched, as only the strong 
and brave can be, when they realize that they have com- 
mitted wrong even though it be through a mistake, or 
ignorance, and have brought down sorrow and misery 
upon dear ones whom it would be their greatest joy to 
defend and protect — a} r e, even to carrying all the bur- 
den on their own willing shoulders were it only pos- 
sible. 

He was dazed and helpless when the fact was forced 
upon him, that Lucia refuted the validity of divorce 
upon Christian principles, and not mere prejudice. He 
had no arguments powerful enough to confute the doc- 


“don’t reproach me viva.” 


173 


trines of her religion, nor the precepts of her conven- 
tual education : nor could he persuade her that his 
great love for her was a sufficient excuse for his impo- 
sition. 

On the contrary, she had proved him to be very much 
in the wrong. While she was actuated by purely hon- 
orable and Christian motives in leaving him, he could 
but plead his fond love for her, as an extenuation for 
the sin she believed she committed by remaining with 
him as his wife. 

Poor child, the hardest thing she had to fight was 
her own loving heart, which pleaded with all its pas- 
sionate eloquence for the man she had learned to love 
so well. 

How hard this battle between right and wrong was, 
none but those who have fought a like fight can ever 
know. It was like tearing asunder his very soul, to 
part with the woman who had become so precious to 
him during those few perfect weeks. 

How he ever found his way to the house on St. 
Charles Avenue and told his sorrowful story, and Lucia’s 
departure to the old people there, he could never re- 
member. 

He thought his cup of sorrow would surely run over, 
when he was obliged silently to take the outburst of 
anger and condemnation the justly incensed Doctor 
hurled at him, calling him an impostor, and a man with- 
out courage, or honor, in allowing them to suppose his 
first wife long since dead, whilst he was paying court 
to their foster-child. 

He felt from his very soul that he had done wrong 
and was being justly blamed, but thought his punish- 
ment more than he deserved, or could bear. With the 
tears choking his voice he asked their pardon for the 


174 A BLONDE CREOLE. 

sorrow and disgrace he had brought upon them and 
their dear little Lucia. 

He went to the Doctor with the secret hope that he 
would look at his divorce from a man’s standpoint, and 
recognize it as valid ; that being a physician, he would 
think as his own friends had thought, that his was a 
most justifiable course in seeking a separation, and 
would try to overrule Lucia in her opinions. He was 
immensely surprised to find that the Doctor held the 
same views as Lucia, and thought she had done right in 
rending the “ slight ties ” (?) existing between them. 

Slight ! Merciful Heaven, did he not think when he 
stood before that altar tightly clasping her hand, that 
all the powers under the blue canopy of heaven could 
not sever them, and that she was his “ to have and to 
hold until death did them part.” 

So, too, was Viva Jackson angry, and wept as though 
her heart would break at hearing this awful news ; and 
the abrupt ending of what she had hoped was to be a 
life full of many years of married happiness for her 
two friends, of whom she was so fond. 

She thought Robert Bruce had imposed upon them, 
as well as upon Lucia and her foster-parents. She told 
him that he might have confided in Mr. Jackson, for 
whom he professed such friendship, 
i Poor Robert, he thought he was being harshly used 
at receiving so much censure and so little sympathy, 
when he was suffering so much more from his own folly 
than any of them, yet this fact did not make his an- 
guish any less keen. 

While Viva had laid with her head buried in the sofa 
cushions, trying to stifle back the hard choking sobs 
which prevented her utterance, the sadly tried man 
strode up and down the room brushing away the tears 


“ don’t reproach me viva.” 


175 


of which he was not the least ashamed, with his brain 
on fire, and his hands trembling like aspen leaves, he 
stopped before her, and said : 

“ Viva, as I hope for judgment after death, I did not 
mean to impose upon Lucia, or any of you, in keeping 
this thing a secret. I felt myself so truly free that I 
never thought seriously of it, except, that like all 
women, Lucia would naturally show some jealousy when 
she learned that the woman I first loved and married 
was still living. I never heard her express her opinion 
on the subject of divorce, and thought if she had any 
objection, it was more a womanly prejudice than any- 
thing else. I intended to tell her of it myself at some 
favorable time after our marriage, when, as I thought, 
there would be no chance of losing her. But my God, 
what a terrible thing my procrastination has proved to 
be!” 

“ Only think, Viva, of my tender little Lucia being 
for hours alone in the room with that poor mad creat- 
ure ? I tremble to think what the consequences might 
have been. She has tried more than once to kill me. 
Oh, just Heaven ! how I wish she had, for then my 
dear little Lucia would have been spared all this sorrow 
and anguish. And I feel myself that I shall go mad or 
put a pistol to my head, and blow out my brains. All 
that keeps me from doing so now, is, that Lucia, my 
darling, whom I still consider my true little wife, bade 
me wait. Almost the last word she said to me was, 
‘ Wait, Robert, wait ; the end will surely come and set 
you free, and then I will come to you as fast as the 
wings of love can speed me.’ ” 

“ But, Viva, how can I wait? The months may 
drag their tardy lengths into years, before death claims 
that poor deranged woman and sets me free ; and all 


176 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


this time I shall be dragging out an existence much 
worse than death — death? why death only means 
oblivion, and then, the judgment : while life without her 
is worse, much worse than death ; for me it will be a 
perpetual hell. Oh, Viva, I loved her so — and to 
think of her taking this long journey alone. It is as 
much as I can do to remain away from her. Who 
knows the dangers which may beset her at this very 
minute ? I shall certainly go mad if I think of it.” 

While he was talking, Viva had grown a little 
calmer. She looked at his handsome face, all livid and 
drawn, with deep circles around the fine grave eyes, 
and the nervous twitching of the lips, as his voice rang 
out with a sharp pain of agon}-, in a cadence that had 
ere this, been so mellow and resonant. 

“ Oh Robert,” she said, with a great reproach in her 
voice, “ how could you let that poor child, who knows 
nothing of travel, and who has never cared nor 
thought for herself during her short life, start on such 
a journey alone. I shiver with apprehension when I 
think of all she must endure in that hard cruel city, 
with no one to care for her, no one to protect her, no 
one to say a kind word to her should she be taken ill; 
and to go at such a time too ; when her heart is so 
nearly broken. Oh it is too much — too much. Why 
did she not come to us ? ” And Viva sobbed aloud in 
her great distress. 

“Don’t reproach me Viva. For God’s sake, don’t 
reproach me,” he said, “ I wanted to go. I pleaded 
with her only to be allowed to go half way, but she 
would not ; and I had already brought so much sorrow 
upon the dear child that I dared not again do that 
which I saw she was so bitterly opposed to, for all our 


177 


“don’t reproach me, viva.” 

sorrow has grown out of the mistake of a too loving 
heart.” 

“ But good-night, and good-bye Viva, for I am going 
away to-morrow. I can no longer remain here where 
everything reminds me of my lost love, and my dead 
life. Viva, I love my beautiful gentle Lucia with an 
idolatrous love. I love her with the calm and peace of 
a trusting mature age, that has spent its selfishness and 
egotism, among the husks of youthful follies, in the long 
forgotten past, and was prepared to go through life, 
hand in hand with her, who is as dear to me as my 
soul’s salvation. And now — and now? Oh God ! all 
is a blank.” 

As Viva sat there with her face buried in her hand- 
kerchief and prevented from answering by the sobs 
which were choking her, Bruce stopped in his restless 
pacing of the room, and asked : 

“ What is my life now ? what are fame, riches, honor 
to me while my heart is being worn out by the cruel 
canker of remorse, for the misery that I have heaped 
upon her, the dearest, the truest, the best of women. 
Ah ! if I could only have sustained all this agony 
alone, it would not be half so severe as the knowledge 
that I have been the means of driving her from her 
home, from her people, and from safety?” 

The tension of heart and brain was so great, that 
from excessive emotion he shivered as with an ague 
that warm Southern summer night. He had spoken 
rapidly, wildly, in a strange husky voice, the pathos of 
which he strove with all his might to keep under re- 
straint, but which touched Viva strangely, and before 
she could say one word of sympathy to the sorely 
stricken man, he had left the room, and was gone out 
into the darkness of the night. 

12 


178 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


I 


CHAPTER III. 

THE ACTRESS’S CHILD. 

All day long the rain had fallen in torrents, and the 
fierce north-east wind was driven like “ ice knives ” in- 
to the faces of such as were obliged to brave its fury. 
Umbrellas were a delusion. The high wind made sport 
of such as were rashly raised, and turned them inside 
out, or sent them whirling after their owner’s hats high 
in the air,' and then dancing nimbly down the street, 
like some new species of animal let loose from a Zoologi- 
cal garden. 

This had been a dreary desolate day to poor little 
Lucia, forcing her loneliness and desolation upon her, as 
nothing else could. 

She dared not venture out in the flooded streets, 
even if she had any reason for doing so. Her little silk 
“gossamer” would have been about as much protection 
against this second deluge as a butterfly’s wing. 

Besides, she had not been able to buy herself any 
strong boots, and those she had brought with her — 
dainty little French things they were too — had been 
worn very thin on the brick pavements in her many 
tramps for scholars, and would be soon wet through on 
such a day as this. As there was no need for her 
doing otherwise, she had preferred remaining in doors. 

She did not write many letters now. As she had no 
good news to tell — and would not speak of her troubles 
to her friends — she preferred saying nothing at all. 
W eek after week had slipped by without her having ex> 


THE ACTRESS’S CHILD. 


179 


changed one kindly word, until this day when even the 
elements seemed to conspire against her, and she felt 
herself longing so for one line of sweet sympathy from 
the dear ones left behind, that she could resist the 
pleading of her heart no longer. After standing at the 
window looking at the rain, which fell no faster than 
her scalding tears, she took out her little traveling case 
— another reminder of him whom fate had forced from 
her side — and wrote a long letter to Viva. 

She tried hard not to let the blinding tears mar its 
pages, but this was impossible, for the flood gates of her 
eyes, as well as those of the skies seemed to be let 
loose to-day, and her tears had not ceased to fall since 
she got up from her bed this dark cheerless day. 

She had received but one letter from Viva since her 
arrival in New York ; and in it she reproached Lucia 
bitterly for not coming to them when she discovered 
that Robert Bruce had a poor afflicted wife living. 

“ Did you think,” wrote Viva, “ that my friendship 
would only hold good through palmy and prosperous 
days? Did you fear to trust me, your oldest and truest 
friend with your sorrows, your disappointments ? Ah, 
I think I shed as many tears as even yourself, when 
Robert Bruce came to me, broken-hearted and beside 
himself with grief at the loss of his ‘ beautiful little 
wife,’ as he still persists in calling you.” 

“I think you should have come to us and made our 
house your home, and have let us do all in our power 
to atone for that portion of the mischief we have done 
you, for the sorrow we have been instrumental in heap- 
ing upon } T our young life, for did I not — all uncon- 
sciously — bring this fate upon you ? Did I not intro- 
duce you to Robert Bruce? ” 

She ended this loving, sympathetic letter by saying, 


180 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


“ I can well understand that you could not return to 
Dr. Orlando’s house where you would have encountered 
Frank, though I assure you he is in the deepest distress 
at your misfortune, nor could you well endure the 
gentle reproaches of your dear old god-mother, who 
naturally knows nothing of her son’s escapades and 
would tell you — not unkindly I am sure — that had you 
married her dear Frank you would have averted this dire 
calamity. Come to us Lucia dear, come to our hearts, 
and our home, and let my husband and me prove our- 
selves the warm loving friends we have ever professed 
ourselves to be.” 

As Lucia read over these tender loving words of her 
girlhood’s friend, the tears rained down her cheeks as 
fast as the drops poured down the window pane out- 
side. 

“ Oh Viva, Viva,” she wailed, “ could I but see you, 
or dear maman for only one short hour, the sight of 
your sweet sympathetic faces would give me courage to 
longer carry the burden which now is growing too 
heavy for my poor tired shoulders.” 

“ Oh, I want a counsellor so much ; my path seems 
so dark and obscure that I know not which way to 
turn. If in my present troubles I could only go to 
Robert, my broad-shouldered, tender-hearted Robert, 
who always smiled me such a sweet welcome with his 
grave blue eyes, and shelter myself in his love for he is 
such a tower of strength — but I dare not. We cannot 
trust ourselves to be friends, he must be all in all to 
me, as I am to him, or nothing at all.” 

“ Why has Fate been so cruel to me ? I have done 
no wrong of myself to merit this dire calamity. Why 
should she have singled me out of all women, to vent 


THE ACTRESS’S CHILD. 


181 


her spite upon. Surely this great city can hold no 
other heart so desolate as mine, no life so dreary ? ” 

And she disconsolately paced the narrow limits of 
her little room believing her lot much harder than any 
others. She tried to stifle thought, but all the will 
power she could bring to bear, was unequal to the 
task. 

She so longed to drown the torturing past in the 
deep calm sea of forgetfulness. So longed to once 
more enjoy the peace and ease of a mind at rest. 

As the firelight touched her sad face she looked too 
young, too fragile to be forced to fight life’s battles 
single-handed. The delicate neutral-tinted dress she 
wore of some soft clinging grey, unrelieved by any 
gleam of color, threw up the rounded outlines of her 
figure, and gave a sombre, quaker-like tone to her fair 
Southern beauty. Going to a table she took up a little 
jeweled toy of a watch — one of her wedding presents 
— and told herself, “ it is time to go to bed.” But she 
knew it was not to refresh her weary brain by the 
greatest of restorers, that she nightly laid her weary 
head upon the pillow. Sleep seemed so far away from 
her eyelids lately. But she must go to bed in order to 
res fc — if she could — and be ready to take up life’s bat- 
tles again on the morrow. How many sleepless nights 
she had known of late, only her pillow could testify to, 
if we except the dark lines under the darker eyes that 
seemed to have dilated beyond their usual size. 

She had just drawn the comb from her hair, and let 
its mass ripple, and coil, and wave down her back, and 
while holding its weight in her two hands, hoping thus 
to relieve her poor tired brain, she stopped and lis- 
tened : 

“ Yes,” she said aloud, “ that is the voice of a child 


182 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


then went on separating the glittering coils into smaller 
curls with her soft white fingers. “ Ah me ! ” she 
sighed, “ I wonder why that song has recurred to me 
all day ? Is it because the words are in sympathy with 
me ? ” And in a dreamy sad voice she repeated : — 

“ I think of all thou art to me, 

I dream of all thou cans’t not be, 

My life is cursed with thoughts of thee 
For ever and for ever. 

“ My heart is full of grief and woe, 

I see thy face where’er I go, 

I would alas it were not so. 

For ever and for ever.” 

Presently she stopped and listened again, as a tired 
little voice cried : — 

44 Mamma, mamma come, Ancie wants a dink.” 

“ Poor little fellow,” she said to herself, 44 even his 
little babyhood is not free from trouble.” 

Then as the little voice broke into a plaintive cry, 
calling for his mother to “ come and give Ancie a 
dink,” Lucia, all sympathy now for the little child in 
the next room — standing irresolute said, 

44 That must be the child of that young widow cry- 
ing so piteously for his mother. I remember now that 
our landlady told me she is an actress. I never have 
heard the little fellow cry at night before. I wonder 
if he is all alone in that room ?” Then as the wailing 
began again, this time accompanied by a choking 
cough, her woman’s heart could no longer withstand 
the cry of a little child, and moving out in the dark- 
ened passage, she said reassuringly to herself : 44 Surely 
his mother will not think me intrusive if she should re- 
turn and find me in her room, for the way to a mother’s 


THE ACTRESS’S CHILD. 


183 


heart is through her child. I can tell her how he cried 
for a drink ; that will surely be a sufficient excuse. 
She must return before long, for it is close upon eleven 
o’clock.” 

And turning the handle of the door, which was un- 
locked, she went in. Objects showed up but dimly in 
the light of a night lamp that was burning low on the 
mantlepiece, but she plainly saw a little white-robed 
figure sitting up in bed, with the darkest of curls all 
tumbled, and looking as though they were carved out 
of ebony, so very black were they. 

The child hearing the door open, turned his little 
curly head and eagerly cried, “ Mamma, mamma.” But 
when he saw a stranger enter and come up to the bed- 
side, he began to cry again. 

Turning up the light, Lucia went to a toilet table, 
and poured some water into a little silver cup that was 
standing on it, and returning to the side of the bed, 
held it to the lips of the thirsty child, who never let it 
go till he had drained it to the last drop. As she re- 
placed the cup on the table, she saw that it must have 
been the little boy’s christning cup, for on it was en- 
graved a name and date, but which she could not read 
in the dim light. 

The black eyes of the little boy followed Lucia’s 
movements till she came back to the side of the bed, 
and then he put his arms out to her. As she folded 
him to her breast she felt how intensely hot he was ; 
and noticed that his eyes were fairly glittering with 
fever-light, while his cheeks were redder than poppies. 
Lucia took him in her lap, and covered his little bare 
feet with a soft woollen shawl that lay over the foot of 
the bed. As she did so, he was seized by a prolonged 
fit of coughing, and in her fear and inexperience she 


184 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


thought he would never recover. She was wondering 
what to do or who to call, when to her intense relief he 
recovered, and looking up into her face said, “ Pretty 
lady, Ancie wants his mamma.” 

While she was assuring him his mamma would come 
soon, and telling him bits of “ Mother Goose,” the 
door was softly opened, and looking up, Lucia saw a 
tall, graceful young woman standing in front of her. 
She had previously only seen her neighbor of the next 
room at a distance, or as she was entering or leaving 
the house, and then only in the dark passage. But now 
she felt sure this very pretty woman was she, as her 
black robed figure was boldly silhouetted against the 
background of the white door, while she seemed to 
hesitate for a moment. 

She had thrown off her damp wraps and rain-cloak 
in the hall, and as she stood there, only for the fraction 
of a minute, Lucia’s quick eye took in the whole of 
this beautiful animated picture. 

Her questioning eyes gazed distrustfully upon the 
girl who still held the sick child in her arms, but when 
she turned them upon her boy, they melted into tender- 
est love. 


CHAPTER IV. 

’twixt love and duty. 

“ Mamma, mamma,” eagerly cried the child. “ Pretty 
lady gave Ancie a dink.” And the boy fondly ex- 
tended his burning little arms to his mother, who 
quickly took him from Lucia, and said : — 



HER QUESTIONING EYES GAZED DISTRUSTFULLY UPON THE GIRL 
WHO STILL HELD THE SICK CHILD IN HER ARMS. 


Page 184 . 


































. 
















II I 




























*TWIXT LOVE AND DUTY. 


185 


“ I scarcely thought to find my room so unceremoni- 
ously occupied.” 

Lucia opened her eyes wonderingly wide, and looked 
for a moment at this pretty woman, who could be so 
rude and unkind. 

“ Pardon me,” she said. “ Indeed I hesitated long 
before I intruded, but the crying of the little boy for a 
drink, and for his mamma was too pitiful to let me long 
remain on ceremony, so I came to comfort him. Be- 
lieve me, I did not wish to intrude myself upon you ” 

“ Oh, forgive me please. Do forgive me, dear Miss 
Corletti. Indeed I did not mean to be rude, but I was 
surprised. I thought to find my little boy quietly 
sleeping, but when I entered and found him in your 
lap — I think I did not know just what I said,” pleaded 
the woman who still held the child closely in her arms, 
and was kissing him passion atety, as though she had 
just rescued him from some great danger. 

u Certainly,” answered Lucia, then looking at the 
scarlet face of the child, asked, “ do you not think your 
little boy is very feverish ? ” 

“ Yes,” she answered, with a tremor in her voice, “ I 
am afraid he is. He has a very severe cold. I was so 
unhappy all the evening for fear he should grow worse 
while I was at the theatre, that I could scarcely play. 
You know I am an actress,” she said. 

Lucia could not determine whether she asked this as 
a question, or gave it as information, but thought the 
last sentence was spoken with a shade of bitterness in 
her voice. But only answered quietly : — 

“ Yes, I was told you are an actress.” 

Then, as if she had not heard, the other continued, 
“ I never leave my dear little boy at home alone. I 
am so fearful of some accident befalling him. I always 


186 


A BLONDE CEEOLE. 


take him to the theatre with me, and we make him a 
bed of our shawls and wraps in one corner of the dress- 
ing-room. The girls are very fond of him, and he 
sleeps almost the whole time ; but to-night he has such 
a cold and was so feverish, that I was afraid to risk 
taking him out in the rain. But I am very sorry he 
has disturbed you to-night, and perhaps kept you up.” 

“ No, no,” protested Lucia quickly, “ I cannot sleep 
now as I used to before — before — that is, before I left 
home, and seldom go to bed till I hear you return from 
the theatre. So you see he has not kept me up beyond 
my usual time. I am glad you did not take him out 
this dreadful night, and if you will let me, I shall be 
only too pleased to care for him at any time when you 
are away.” 

But the mother did not answer, only hugged her 
child more tightly to her breast. 

As Lucia moved toward the door, she hesitated as 
though she would speak. The mother raised her head 
from her child for a minute and said: 

“ Indeed I am grateful to you for your kindness to 
my little boy ; and hope you will not remember my 
rude speech when I came in, but I was so much sur- 
prised.” 

“ Oh I had forgotten all about it, but if you will tell 
me how you knew my name, and what is your own, I 
shall be so pleased.” 

“ My own is Mrs. Francis ; ” and she again bent low 
over the little fellow who had fallen into an uneasy 
sleep. Presently she said, “ I saw your name on a let- 
ter the servant brought to me by mistake when you 
first came here. I told her to ask if it was not for you. 
She came directly back and told me it was. So of 
course I could not help knowing your name.” 


’twixt loye and duty. 


187 


“ Yes, that was plain enough to see,” Lucia agreed 
with a smile while she bade Mrs. Francis good-night, 
hoping that little Ancie would be better in the morn- 
ing. 

When she was once more in her own cheerless room, 
she prepared for bed, feeling less dreary, less desolate, 
than she had in the earlier part of the evening, and as 
she laid down, she sighed to think how much trouble 
there was in the world, and went to sleep thinking 
of the lonely young widow in the next room, who was 
obliged to take her dear little child with her to the 
theatre every night, because she had no one to leave 
him with. 

She slept a little better for the good she had been 
trying to do to another, and awoke in the morning with 
the comforting thought that she was not as bereaved as 
her young neighbor who wept as one without hope. 
Half audibly she murmured as she rose, “ If Robert 
and I are parted now, 1 have the hope at least that we 
shall be together some day ; it is not so bad as if we 
were separated by the black gulf of death ; that is a 
little comfort anyway.” 

Her fellow-lodger in the next room had not closed 
her eyes all the night through. What with anxiety for 
her sick child, whose fever had increased perceptibly, 
and painful recollections that crowded themselves upon 
her ; the winter’s day dawned and the pale grey morn- 
ing’s light stole into the little room, ere she had been 
relieved by even the lightest slumber. The night had 
been a long one. She too had had sorrows ; and bitter 
thoughts of the past had lashed her as with burning 
thongs. Hour, after hour, went by as she retraced every 
step of that time which she would fain forget, and did 
not even try to sleep. She dared not close her eyes for 


188 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


fear she should cry out and reveal all that was so near 
her aching heart. Through all her thoughts too, ran 
the idea of action, a plan more or less definite, a hope 
for the future, a determination not to be outdone, even 
by fate if she could avert the decree. But all must be 
deferred ; for the time for action was not yet come. 

Action? and with action revenge. Yet some way or 
other since the night before, the desire for action was 
less keen, and the sweets of revenge had been robbed 
of much of its honey ; but the refrain of her heart 
was : “ If I only knew, if I only knew ? ” 

A little later in answer to her quiet, “come in,” as a 
timid knock was heard on the door, Lucia softly step- 
ped into the room, and enquired how the sick child 
was. 

The mother only shook her head, and continued her 
restless pacing up and down, scarcely taking her eyes 
from the fever flushed face of her child. 

Lucia drew near the bed, and laid her cool hand on 
the burning forehead of the little boy. Just then a 
sharp paroxysm of coughing, deep and hoarse, seized 
him. As he regained his breath and broke into a wail- 
ing cry, the mother took him in her arms, and seating 
herself in a low chair, mingled her tears, which she 
strove to hide, with those of her fatherless boy. 

Lucia saw at a glance that the child was not so well, 
and p tied the anxious mother with all her heart. She 
asked if a doctor had been sent for ? 

Only shaking her head, Mrs. Francis answered, “ that 
she would stop and fetch the doctor, who lived near, on 
her way back from rehearsal.” 

The girl looked the surprise she felt, and asked : 
“Are you obliged to go to the theatre to-day?” 

“ Yes, this is the last rehearsal before the new piece 


’twixt love and duty. 


189 


that comes on to-night, and my absence to-day would 
cost me my engagement. I dare not sacrifice that : yet 
my child is so ill that I hate to leave him. Still I must 
go.” 

By the pained expression of her face and sensitive 
quiver of her lips, Lucia could see the fierce fight that 
was raging in her heart between love and duty. 

What a terrible warfare these two factions have ever 
waged in the human heart? Love and duty. I won- 
der if the combatants themselves could tell which 
brings the greatest peace to the victor ? 

But the actress knew only too well, that the sacrifice 
of her engagement meant also the sacrifice of this lit- 
tle room, their only home and shelter in all this great 
city. It also meant the loss of their daily bread, and 
the other few comforts so necessary to them. No, she 
dared not hesitate, but said to Lucia in a voice made 
calm by despair — 

“ Yes, I shall go.” 

“ Since you must go, perhaps you will let me remain 
with your little boy,” eagerly questioned the girl. “ I 
am so fond of children. You could not leave him alone 
you know, and I will do my best to nurse him care- 
fully.” 

The mother hesitated for a moment only, and then 
with no tenderness or thanks in her voice for the girl’s 
kind offer, answered: 

“ Yes, you may remain with him. I could not leave 
him alone, it’s true, nor can I take him with me.” She 
was silent and absorbed for a moment. Then glancing 
at a small Waterbury clock on the mantlepiece — “It is 
time for me to go now,” she said. 

Once more folding her boy to her heart, and kissing 
his burning brow and cheeks, leaving her tear drops 


190 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


glistening in his curls, she put him into Lucia’s arms 
and saying in a reverential voice, “ He is all I have left 
now : pray God to spare him to me,” quickly left the 
room and the house. 

As she passed along through the crowds of people 
and the chill damp air, she neither saw nor felt. Onty 
thought was busy, and she took up the old refrain — “If 
I only knew ! If I only knew ! And Fate, that cruel 
fate that blows our destiny about like weather-cocks 
has decreed that I be brought face to face with my 
temptation.” 

While a pained looked gleamed from her eyes, and 
her lips moved in unison with her thoughts, she crossed 
the street and stopped in front of the “Casino” — that 
“ Casino ” which looks to the beholder more like a small 
fortress than a theatre, but which is such perfect fairy- 
land the instant its sombre portals are crossed, and 
passed in at the stage door repeating — 

“ Man, false man, smiling destructive man. 

Who breathes must suffer, and who thinks must mourn : 

And he alone is bless’d who ne’er was born.” 


CHAPTER V. 

IN TIGHTS. 

’Tis a week now since little Ancie was taken ill. 
The doctor came twice to see him, and said “ there was 
nothing more serious the matter than a severe cold, but 
that he must be very carefully nursed.” 

Mrs. Francis had become more gracious and less cold 
during the child’s illness, and expressed herself “most 
grateful ” for the kind offices of her young neighbor, 


IN TIGHTS. 


191 


who had sat by the sick boy, and amused him during 
the time she was at the theatre. 

Ancie and Lucia had become warm friends during 
that week, and the child was quite content to be left to 
her tender care during his mother’s absence. Lucia 
was fond of the dark-eyed, ebon haired little boj^. He 
reminded her so forcibly of some one she had known ; 
but who, she could not recall clearly. Sometimes she 
thought of her dear old god-mother when looking into 
his clear black eyes, so much like hers, and would sigh 
as she recalled all the pleasures left so far behind, in 
her bright flower- scented home in the genial, warm 
land of the South. 

She had been less depressed, less harassed by tor- 
turing thoughts when ministering to the little boy, and 
was much happier now that she had occupation and 
some one to talk to. She used sometimes to think she 
would go mad, when sitting alone in her cheerless 
little room, with no other companion than a book — on 
which she could never long rivet her attention — and 
her harrowing obtrusive thoughts. 

Now she beguiled her evenings with little Ancie and 
sometimes was almost happy in seeing the pleasure her 
earnest attempt to amuse, gave him. 

But sometimes, in the midst of a laugh, or a childish 
song, she would catch her breath, as the old phantom 
suddenly crossed the track of her memory ; ghost-like re- 
fusing to be laid, and reproaching her that she could so 
far forget her troubles as to laugh or sing, even though 
it be to amuse a sick child. 

Lucia admired the widow, and pitied her; she could 
even have liked her very much and have made a friend 
and confident of her, if she herself had encouraged her 


192 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


by one word more than the formal gratitude she re- 
turned for her kindness to the boy. 

But she was so reserved — always so chillingly polite, 
and so tall and dignified, that she, this warm hearted 
girl was half afraid of her. Yet she so hungered for 
friendship, for sympathetic companionship, that she 
was fain to throw her arms around this queenly woman, 
and pour out to her all her troubles, her disappoint- 
ments, and her sorrows. 

She had now quite despaired of getting scholars. 
Everybody either wanted a teacher with experience, or 
one who could give references and unfortunately she 
had neither. Some pronounced her too young, and 
others, those who had grown sons, or husbands in 
whom their faith was not as “ strong as the Plymouth 
Rock,” thought her much too beautiful to be an inmate 
of their homes, a foil to themselves, and a perpetual 
temptation to the male members. 

One morning when the little boy was well enough to 
be taken to the theatre, and Lucia thus deprived of her 
occupation, she looked up and encountered the wi- 
dow’s large eyes intently fixed on her face. She had 
often felt their gaze burning into her very soul, but to- 
day she thought they wore a questioning look, and 
were shadowed by tenderness and sympathy. This so 
overcame poor overwrought Lucia, that she threw her 
arms around the neck of the young actress, and burst- 
ing into tears, cried as though her heart would break. 

Nor were the eyes of the widow diy. Fondly fold- 
ing the impulsive girl to her heart, and letting the little 
golden head lay on her shoulder, Lucia wept until the 
storm of tears was past. 

When she could recover her voice, she told the widow 
something of her troubles. She said nothing however 


IN TIGHT&. 


1 % 


of her marriage ; nor of Doctor Orlando and his family. 
But she told, her of her inability to get scholars and 
that her money was now so nearty gone that she did 
not know what to do, or where to turn. 

“ Poor child,'* sympathizingly said the actress, strok- 
ing Lucia’s hand, “ it is hard. It is indeed hard to 
fight the world without weapons. You are from the 
South, are you not ? ” she asked rather abruptly. 

“Yes.” answered the girl, “from New Orleans.” 

“ I knew you were.” 

As Lucia looked questioningly at her, she said : 

“ 1 knew it by your quiet, soft voice, so unlike the 
rapid, sharp accents of these Northern people.” 

“ You too, are from my dear South-land, are you 
not ? ” eagerly asked Lucia. 

“ Yes, yes,” hurriedly replied the widow, then as if 
she feared some further questioning from the girl, 
quickly asked : 

“ Have you never thought of the stage ? Many girls 
and women find a good living midst its gay scenes and 
excitements. In fact ’tis the only employment wherein 
a woman may find an opening without carry her cre- 
dentials in her hand, or producing her marriage certifi- 
cate if she prefix Mrs. to her name.” 

“ Yes,” replied Lucia, “ I have often thought of it, 
but don’t know anyone to introduce me to a manager, 
or how to go about securing an engagement.” 

“ That is one of the many advantages in the profes- 
sion I have chosen, and rather like now I am used to it. 
One needs no introduction to a manager. If there is a 
vacancy in his company, you apply for the position. 
He asks no questions, or very few. He engages you for 
a few days or a week, and if he thinks you suit your 
part, and likely to be an acquisition to the play, keeps 
13 


194 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


you, and settles what salary you are to have for the run 
of the piece, or the balance of the season, that is all.” 

“ Oh, is that all ? ” exclaimed Lucia, her face beaming 
with delight, and her brown eyes fairly sparkling with 
excitement. “ But,” she continued with less animation, 
“the season is long since opened, and all the companies 
must be full ; so there is no chance for me.” 

“I don’t know,” she quietly answered. “If you 
care to try, you might succeed. One of our choruses 
has a friend in the new burlesque they are bringing out 

at the Theatre this week, but poor girl, she has 

met with an accident that will prevent her playing for 
a few nights. Perhaps they have no one for her part 
yet. If not, there might be a chance for you. Sup- 
pose you go down and see ? ” 

“ When ? ” eagerly asked Lucia, the color coming 
and going from her animated face. “ Who shall I ask 
for ? Oh, I am frightened to death at the very idea.” 

“ Nonsense,” smilingly said the actress. “ But you 
must not mind being stared at, the battery of eyes one 
has to encounter at such a time is much worse than 
anything else. Just walk in as if you were accustomed 
to asking for engagements every day, and request to 
see the manager. But I think you should go at once, 
for this is the time he is usually at the theatre.” 

A few minutes later Lucia put her face, glowing with 
a new light, in at her neighbor’s door, and said, “ Good- 
bye, wish me success.” 

During that afternoon, Lucia entered Mrs. Francis’ 
room with her face in a glow of crimson, and scarcely 
lifted her e} r es when the widow quickly asked, 

“ Well, did you succeed ? ” 

“ Yes,” she answered very timidly. 


IN TIGHTS. 


195 


“Well, what’s the matter, you don’t seem as happy 
at the success, as you did at the suggestion of it ? ” 

“ Oh, it was so awful,” shivered Lucia. 

“ Awful, what was awful,” she demanded. 

“ That dreadful ordeal of the tights. Do you wear 
tights in your part? You did not prepare me for what 
I should have to undergo Mrs. Francis, I wish you had 
told me : perhaps then I would not have felt so morti- 
fied,” and at the bare remembrance of the insults she 
had endured her face grew crimson again. 

“ I fail to understand you Miss Corletti, I know 
nothing that I should have prepared you for. Suppose 
you explain yourself more clearly. I have worn tights 
since I’ve been on the stage, but don’t see anything so 
dreadful in that,” she said with hauteur. 

“Well,” answered Lucia still blushing, and toying 
with her handkerchief. “ After I had seen the manager 
and told him I had come to apply for the temporary 
position of the young lady who had met with an acci- 
dent, he exclaimed — 

“ The devil you have. Never been on the stage be- 
fore, I’ll bet. Have you ? ” 

“ I told him, ‘ I had not.’ ” 

“ Awfully stage-struck, eh ? ” 

“ No, I am not stage-struck at all,” I answered. 

“ Then why do you want to come here, eh ? To 
show off your pretty face ? ” 

“ His impudence made me so angry that I was about 
walking myself off, for I did not think him sober, when 
I remembered how very little money I had left, and 
must get some, somewhere. So only answered, 

“No, I don’t want to show my face, if I can help it, 
but I must make some money in order to live.” 

“Well, other people have to do the same,” he said 


196 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


ogling down at me, with his hands deep buried in his 
pockets. “ Can you sing ? ” he asked presently. 

“ When I told him 1 1 could,’ he called out to a for- 
eign looking man: — ‘Here Leroy, come try this new 
voice and tell me if it is worth anything.’ ” 

“ My ! how I hated him, the coarse rude creature. 
However, I went to the side of the piano, which was at 
one end of the stage, with Mr. Leroy, and sang to his 
accompaniment. He liked my voice and told the un- 
gracious manager that it was good, full, and true. At 
the same time saying to me in an undertone, ‘don’t 
be frightened at that man, he is upset to-day, and 
much worse than usual.’ ” 

“ Then the manager told me to come with him, 
and leading the way to a dressing-room called out, ‘ Here 
Miss May, give this lady a suit of tights and show 
her how to get into them.’ ” 

“I suppose my face was a reflex of my feelings, for 
the blood surged up to my cheeks and ears with such a 
burning and tingling, that I felt on fire. But he only 
laughed at my confusion and said, ‘ When you have 
them on, come show yourself to me.’ ” 

“ The dressing-room was crowded with ladies trying 
on, and fitting different articles of costumes, but all 
stopped and looked at me as though I were a new spe- 
cies of womankind. The person called Miss May, was 
rather nice, and when I had put on the flesh-colored 
tights, led me back to the stage and the manager, who 
was seated at a table with a pile of letters before him 
talking in a loud commanding voice to two gentlemen. 
I could not have felt much worse if I had gone before 
them without any clothes on at all.” 

“ I knew that I was blushing crimson, and wanted to 
pull down my skirts, but of course, I had none on, and 



“I KNEW THAT I WAS BLUSHING CRIMSON AND WANTED TO 
PULL DOWN MY SKIRTS, BUT OF COURSE, I HAD NONE ON, AND 
CREPT AROUND THE TABLES AND LOOSE SCENERY THAT WAS 
LYING ABOUT, TRYING TO FIND SOMETHING TO HIDE BEHIND.” 

Page 196 . 





IN TIGHTS. 


197 


crept around the tables and loose scenery which was 
lying about, trying to find something to hide behind.” 

“ He laughed at my red face, and said, 4 That's never 
going to do, to make your face that color ; it will an- 
swer very well for the cheeks, but you must keep some 
of that natural rouge out of your forehead and neck.’ ” 

“Then he came up and turned me around as though 
I were a 4 lay figure,’ and slapping me on the back, 
said, ‘You’ll do when you’re used to it, now skip over 
the stage to the dressing-room as though you were step- 
ping on air, and not as if you were going to take a 
shower-bath,’ which indeed I felt was the most correct 
simile he could have used. However before I had fin- 
ished dressing he sent word that I might consider my- 
self engaged, and to remain for rehearsal which was 
called for that very hour. So I remained, and that is 
what kept me so late,” she concluded. 

“Well!” ejaculated Mrs. Francis, “I never heard of 
such impudence, and I must say, have never yet met a 
man in the profession so rude. Our manager is most 
gentlemanly ; exacting and careful ; but always polite. 
I don’t wonder you blushed crimson at such treatment. 
But when a woman has to earn her own living, she is 
obliged to meet all kinds and conditions of men ; still 
it does not make it any the less hard to bear. Then 
you are engaged for the time during this young lady’s 
indisposition, I suppose,” she asked. 

“ Yes, and I shall earn enough this week, to keep 
me three,” said she looking so radiantly happy at the 
idea of earning at last a little money. But presently 
added, “ It will be just as bad though, when this lady 
is well enough to take her place, I will then^have noth- 
ing to do.” 

“ Do not borrow trouble so long ahead,” responded 


193 


4 BLONDE CREOLE. 


the widow. ‘ By that time you don’t know what may 
turn up. The future always arranges for itself.” 

When Lucia returned to her own room and busied 
herself in making her tea, she was surprised that she 
could feel so glad; indeed she was almost happy, 
happier than she had been at any time for weeks. 

The companionship of the dignified and beautiful 
widow, and the childish affection ot the little boy, had 
done much latterly to dispel her gloom and loneli- 
ness. 

This ardent, affectionate girl could not long endure 
solitude, and was pining more for companionship than 
she recked of ; even more than at her misfortune. She 
had a bright, sunny temperament, and reflected her genial 
presence on all around her. She was glad too, to some- 
times forget herself and her troubles, in the society of 
others. Mrs. Francis was always sad, always de- 
pressed, but always polite, if not as effusive and genial, 
as warm-hearted Lucia could have wished. She always 
smiled the girl a welcome when she put her head in at 
the door, but she never came into Lucia’s room, nor 
seemed to seek her company. 

This did not trouble the girl much ; she had hungered 
so for one word of sympathy, one kindly smile from some 
one who could appreciate her sorrows so much, that she 
never questioned in her simple heart, if others gave the 
smiles and sympathy grudgingly or not ; or if they 
might not have troubles and sorrows as great as her 
own to bear. 

She could not suppress the excitement that was 
running riot in her brain, as she told herself, over and 
over again, “ That now she was going to be an actress. 
Actually make her first appearance to-morrow night.” 

As she drank her lonely cup of tea, she fell to won- 


IN TIGHTS. 


199 


dering what her dear old maman would say if she knew 
it. Then asked herself, “ what Robert might say if he 
knew it.” Her heart answered the latter query for her, 
and made her feel that he would shield her from the 
hardships and temptations, which surround a woman 
who is driven to earn her bread behind the footlights, if 
she would but let him. 

“Poor Robert,” she sighed, “he made me promise if 
I was in need of money at any time to let him supply 
it to me before I asked help from any one else. I have 
not had to write for any yet, although my little store is 
very low. But I do not see how I am to take his money 
rather than any one else’s, since I do not consider him my 
true and lawful husband. He is to me now only a dear 
friend ; only a memory full of intense pleasure and 
harrowing pain ; and must remain such till the end 
comes to release him from those hateful bonds, and 
make him mine in verity and truth.” 

“ I wonder where he is to-night, and if he is think- 
ing of me ? Ah ! ’tis very safe to say he is, my poor 
Robert, whom fate, stern cruel fate, has torn from my 
arms, my heart, my life. But I must bear it. I am 
glad I am about entering a new career, one full of ex- 
citement and novelty, it will help me to drown thought, 
thoughts of the dead past, which must be put so far be- 
hind now. Already do I feel better for the momentous 
step I have taken to-day. Pray God I may never re- 
gret it,” she said, feverently raising her eyes to an ivory 
crucifix that hung over her bed, against the wall, and 
then dropped into the old way of dreaming again. 


200 


A BLONDE CKEOLE. 


CHAPTER VI. 

A DESOLATE HOME. 

All had grown very dreary and quiet, at the lonely 
house on St. Charles Avenue : for the dark cloud of 
sickness and sorrow had wrapped its gloomy folds 
about the hearts of the two kind old people there, and 
all was much changed. 

Since Lucia’s marriage, and particularly since her 
separation from Robert Bruce, the house had seemed as 
though a blight had settled upon its hospitable walls. 
Dear old Madame Orlando went about with weary foot- 
steps and tearful eyes, sighing — 

“ Ah mon Lieu , this comes of marrying out of one’s 
faith. I knew no good could result from such a 
union.” 

The good old Doctor had sustained a great grief and 
severe shock in Lucia’s mesalliance. His health did not 
seem to improve with the cool autumn days, but he 
grew weaker all the time. He tried, for his wife’s sake, 
to be patient, and to mention the absent one as little as 
possible, for he knew it always called down a flood of 
weeping from Madame, but he frequently relieved his 
mind and heart in great tremulous sighs that escaped 
him unconsciously at times. These utterances were 
never lost on his faithful old wife, who nursed him with 
such tenderness and care. 

Frank came occasionally to see his parents, but never 
remained long. He complained that the house was 
dull and lonely. His mother frequently told him, 


A DESOLATE HOME. 


201 


“ that he could have averted all this misery by marry- 
ing Lucia, and taking charge of the old home, thus re- 
lieving her of so much care and anxiety.” 

He was always annoyed at her persistence, and this 
particular day she had gone to such lengths that he 

could no longer restrain himself, but ejaculated 

I asked Lucia to marry me, but she declined the 
honor,” and added with sarcasm, “what could I do 
more? I could not force an unwilling bride, could I? ” 
“ No, no, mon cher , but I always thought the dear 
child loved you, and cannot imagine why she did not ; 

you are good, and kind, and handsome ” 

“ There, there,” interrupted Frank, “ spare me all 
these fine speeches which I have heard before, but how 
could any fellow stand out against the persistency of 
that Yankee. He never gave her a chance to change 
her mind. As soon as she accepted him, he persuaded 
her into an immediate marriage, without giving her a 
chance to learn her own heart, or find out if she loved 
him or not. You know I was away at the time, and 
could do nothing in the matter, for she was married be- 
fore my return.” 

“ I know, I know,” lamented the old lady. “ I wish 
she had never seen him. Then I should have her here 
with me. Yes I wish she were at home now, even as 
she is ; and not the wife of Robert Bruce as we sup- 
posed she was when he led her from the church, such a 
happy bride that lovely April day. And now dear 
child — where is she ? Who knows, except that she is 
in New York, and may be in the deepest distress for all 
the knowledge we have to the contrary ? ” 

“ Oh, no she is not,” confidently sneered Frank, as 
he threw himself back in an eas} r chair and lighted a 
cigarette. “ Judging from her last letter I should 


202 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


say slie s forgetting her troubles and quite happy. 
These sunny natures are never long depressed.” 

“ Nay, you mistake, mon fil ,” she answered softly, 
“ You do not understand our dear Lucia, she will not 
grieve us by telling of her unhappiness if she even 
were in the greatest distress. She is such a brave and 
generous little thing, always thinking of others before 
herself.” 

Well, I wish she had thought of others when she 
left Robert Bruce and ran off to the North, then she 
would have spared me some awkward questions ; for 
people are beginning to wonder why she went away so 
soon after her marriage, and alone, too, in spite of all I 
can say to throw them off the scent. But now that 
Robert Bruce has left town, it is not quite so bad, they 
think he is gone to her.” 

“ Poor man,” sighed the sympathetic old lady, “ I 
pity him from the bottom of my heart. He is very 
miserable. The night before he went away, he came to 
see me and cried like a child. He reproaches himself 
so bitterly for all the trouble he lias brought upon us 
and our dear girl. How I wish she had been brave 
enough to come back home. We need her as much as 
she needs us, poor child.” 

“ I think she did perfectly right to go away,” pro- 
tested Frank. “ She fled to avoid comments and scan- 
dal, she knew if she remained here her affairs would 
speedily be made public, and the horror of this was 
enough to frighten any girl away. Yes, I think she did 
right.” 

But he did not tell his mother that he had as much to 
do with Lucia’s hasty marriage and subsequent flight 
as any one else. But he knew it very well, and was 
not sorry that she had gone, that he might think out a 


A DESOLATE HOME. 


203 


plan of action for himself, and decide what was best to 
be done under the circumstances. But quietly re- 
marked, as if he were deeply thinking on the subject, 
while he contemplated the accumulating ash on his cig- 
arette : 

“ Yes, I think she acted wisely in going away till 
this thing blows over a little.” 

“ No, Frank, I do not agree, with you,” positively as- 
serted his mother, sadly shaking her grey head. “It 
would have been far better to have braved it out. Of 
course it would have been very mortifying and terrible 
at first, but we could have stood between her and the 
world’s cruel shafts of malice and spite, and helped her 
to bear the troubles laid so heavily upon her young 
shoulders. Now she must carry them all alone and 
among strangers too. She is such a nervous, timid 
child. Yet she displayed wonderful courage and deter- 
mination of character, in deciding the difficult question 
of right and wrong, when she learned the man whom 
she married had already a living wife. Many women, 
older and stronger than she, would have sank under 
this awful ordeal.” 

“ Perhaps so,” answered Frank, trying to appear un- 
concerned, as he affectionately caressed his moustache, 
“ but what else could she do than leave him when she 
found she was not truly married to him ? Bruce was a 
mean contemptible rascal to impose upon a girl in that 
base manner. I feel like punching his Yankee head. I 
really believe Lucia never loved him, and was not alto- 
gether sorry at a good chance to leave him.” 

“Ah, Francois, don’t be severe; you know he had 
the misfortune to be born and reared a protestant ; and 
at the North too, where divorces are frequent and ob- 
tained for the most trivial complaint. It was ignorance 


204 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


that made him err,” said the generous little lady, then 
after a moment’s reflection continued : 

“ But as Lucia is not married to him, you can wait a 
suitable time, Francois dear, and then go after her and 
bring her home. You can then offer your love again ; 
she will think better of it now that she has been forced 
to learn such a bitter lesson. All the romance and 
girlish sentiment must be crushed out of her gay nature 
ere this, I fear. Poor child, my heart bleeds for her.” 

“ Well, I don’t know about offering her my hand now 
that she stands in this very questionable position. You 
must remember, little mother, that Lucia is neither 
maid, nor wife, nor widow. Besides there are many 
who recognize the justice of a divorce court and the 
validity of the documents they give. These people 
would quickly say that I had married Bruce’s wife. 
No, I think Lucia has done for herself this time. She 
does not consider herself his wife, and I don’t think she 
will easily find another man willing to marry her and 
face the comments such a marriage would occasion, 
anyway, not while Bruce lives,” he said, slowly walk- 
ing up and down the room. 

“ Ah well,” sighed the little lady, “ perhaps the dear 
child is not thinking of marriage. Anyway I wish she 
were back again with us. I think your father would 
get well if he could hear her quick light step, and 
merry voice ringing through the old home as of yore. 
He is fading for the bright sunshine of her joj^ous pres- 
ence. The house is very dull and miserable since she 
left it, aye, he misses her sadly.” And disburdening 
herself of another deep sigh, the tender hearted woman 
went back to her invalid, and left her son alone to his 
thoughts and his cigarette. 

When Frank Orlando returned from Memphis and 


A DESOLATE HOME. 


205 


found that Lucia was indeed lost to him by her mar- 
riage to his rival, he was very much piqued. His 
amour propre was wounded. He told himself that a 
great light had suddenly gone out of his life, and that 
he should live in darkness all the rest of his days. He 
also told himself that he would never again have in- 
terest in anything, or any pursuit ; and fancied all the 
desire for greatness and fame were dead within him, 
since he had only cared for their attainment to lay at 
the feet of the girl whom he fancied himself madly in 
love with. 

But the disappointment at her marriage, was speedily 
turned into surprise and triumph, atf its irregularity 
and her subsequent separation. 

For a time this seemed to solve the problem for him, 
and he determined to follow her to New York, and 
again offer her his hand. He had previously wondered 
if his parents would still consent to his marriage with 
Lucia, now that she was made free by such embarrass- 
ing circumstances, but had been fearful of broaching 
the question lest he give offense to them. But now T , 
he knew his mother would not object. Her love for 
the lonely orphan was sufficient to drown all prejudice, 
all scruples, and she would have surmounted any 
difficulty, to again have her dear foster-child with her. 

But time, although short when marked by days and 
weeks, had been long enough to show Frank Orlando 
his heart. He saw that the pretty impression which 
Lucia’s face had made upon it for a short time was not 
very indelible, and what he had mistaken for love, had 
again settled into a brotherly affection. He had almost 
entirely forgotten her. Only when he came up to the 
lonely old home where everything forced her memory 
upon him, or when she was enquired after by some 


206 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


mutual acquaintance did he trouble himself about her. 
He knew -now that he would not marry her, if she 
even pleaded with him herself for that honor. 

His heart and brain were constantly filled with the 
passionate pleadings of Aline for a continuance of his 
love and protection. At last he had learned which 
woman he loved, and had done all in his power to find 
her and their little boy, whom he truly loved and 
grieved for. 

He had gone to Aline’s mother and tried persuasion 
and pleading, but all without avail ; for Mrs. Blanc 
declared she did not know where her daughter was. It 
never entered 'his mind that Aline might have left 
Louisiana, and he had sought diligently for her in all 
her old haunts, but no one had seen, or even heard of 
her. 

Sometimes he was tortured with the fear that she 
might have committed suicide, and the agony at this 
thought lashed him into such bitter remorse and re- 
grets, as almost to make him ill. Many times had the 
soft crimson tinge of early morning spread itself over 
the eastern sky, and still found him tossing wearily 
upon his bed, or pacing his room, sleep having been a 
stranger to his eyes all night. 

Only when she was gone from him did he realize 
how dearly he loved her, and how necessary she was to 
him. He thought he should never forgive himself for 
his cruel treatment of her — and all through the fancy 
for a pretty face and golden hair that had so quickly 
faded from his heart. Could he but find her once 
more, all the prejudice and pride of birth under the 
sun, could not deter him from marrying her, and giving 
her the devotion and love she was so justly entitled to, 


A LIVING SORROW. 


207 


# CHAPTER VII. 

A LIVING SORROW. 

’Tis now about two weeks since Lucia was obliged 
to yield to its rightful claimant the position she held in 
the Burlesque Opera Company. She had been on the 
stage long enough to decide that she liked it, and 
would adopt it as a profession, if she could procure an 
engagement in one of the many theatres to be found 
in this bustling, active city. 

Mrs. Francis was hoping to get her on at the 
“ Casino ” where they were about to rehearse a new 
comic opera which would require many more ladies in 
the caste than they had in the present one, and had prom- 
ised to introduce her to the manager on the morrow, 
“ who ” — she assured Lucia “ would not subject her to 
such insults and mortification as she had to endure in 
making her last engagement.” 

“ How good and kind you are to me,” said the girl 
with a little quiver in her voice. “ You cannot imag- 
ine what your kindness has been to me in my misery 
and desolation. I think I should have broken my heart, 
if I had not gained your friendship which has been my 
salvation ; for my troubles were so heavy and my fail- 
ure to procure scholars such a great disappointment, and 
what with seeing my money melt away day by day, 
with no one to turn to in this strange city — that I 
thought I should go mad. But when you let me come 
and help nurse little Ancie, and then told me of the 
position in the Burlesque company, I began to see a 


208 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


faint dawning in the black night of my despair. I can 
never sufficiently thank you. You will never know 
what a comfort you have been to me ; as you can never 
know the full extent of my sorrows.” 

“ Ah, we all have our burdens to bear, aqd we each 
think our own particular burden the greater,” sighed 
Mrs. Francis. “ There have been times when I thought 
the weight of mine would verily crush me into the 
earth. Times when I could not see one gleam of com- 
fort, one ray of light ahead — ” 

“ How often, oh how often, I have wished that the eddying 
tide, 

Would bear me away on its bosom, to the ocean deep and 
wide. 

For my heart was hot and restless, and my life was full of 
care, 

And the burden laid upon me , seemed greater than I could bear." 

— and I have sometimes been comforted by the thought, 
that even that dear old Christian “ Longfellow ” must 
have had his burden of sorrow to bear, or he could 
never have conceived those beautiful lines — so full of 
tender pathos *and deep feeling.” 

“ Yes,” softly answered Lucia, “ I suppose we each 
think our own sorrow the greater. Of course, you 
have sustained a deep affliction in losing your husband, 
and being left a widow so young, with your dear little 
child to rear and care for. But yours is a dead sorrow ; 
and ’tis said that a 4 living sorrow ’ is greater.” 

Mrs. Francis looked at the girl’s expressive face, full 
of tender and sad memories, for a moment, and then, 
mentally said — “ Now is my opportunity, now is my 
time ; I must question her, and find out all I can about 
her husband, why she left him, and why she even re- 
fuses to bear his name, Ah! had she loved him with 


“YES, I HAVE BEEN MARRIED.’ 


209 


one-tenth, one -thousandth part of the love that I lav- 
ished upon him — my idol — she could never have given 
him up for all the women in the world.” 

As she breathed a great sobbing breath, Lucia looked 
into her pained face, her own wistful brown eyes full of 
sorrow, and sighed in sympathy. 

“Living or dead,” said the widow, “my sorrow could 
be no greater. Yes, my dear little boy is a fearful re- 
sponsibility : but oh, he is such a comfort to me in my 
desolation, that I never for a minute feel the care, the 
responsibility that he naturally is. You do not know 
what he is to me ? ” And she smiled down on the lit- 
tle boy, playing so quietly with his blocks in the cor- 
ner, her very soul in her eyes.” He is the one happy 
link between me and my sorrowful past,” she musingly 
said, while she fell into a revery or dream from which 
Lucia did not recall her, but took up a paper and began 
to read, for she had grown accustomed to these fits of 
abstraction in her reserved neighbor, and never dis- 
turbed them. 


CHAPTER Yin. 

“YES, I HAVE BEEN MARRIED.” 

With eyes that saw no outward thing, Mrs. Francis 
sat intently gazing into the fire, her sight introspec- 
tively turned upon her life and the dark past. All for- 
getful of her present surroundings and of Lucia’s pres- 
ence, she sighed deeply and prefixed her thoughts with, 
“If I only knew. If I only knew why she left her 
husband. How am I to find out the truth ? I dare 
not question her, or she may discover who I am, How 

U 


210 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


strangely things have worked out for me ! Here is this 
woman who has usurped my place in the heart of the 
man I love, in the very house with me, and I have held 
her to my heart and wept tears of sympathy with her. 
She calls herself Lucia Corletti still — and yet my 
mother’s letter, received last summer, tells me that 
Lucia Corletti is married. Surely I cannot have read 
it wrong.” And as this hope, for she felt it to be a 
hope, insinuated itself into her heart, she went to a lit- 
tle box and from several letters, took out one, and run- 
ning her eyes down its pages said, “ Ah ! here it is,” 
and then read to herself. “ With much surprise I saw 
in yesterday’s paper the marriage of Lucia Corletti. 
Now your future — as far as that wicked man is con- 
cerned — should be settled. I wanted to send you the 
paper that you might read for yourself, but when I 
searched for it, learned it had been destroyed.” 

Folding the letter away again, she continued, “no, 
there is no mistake ; they were married ; or mother 
could never have read it in the paper.” Then looking 
at the date, said to herself : 

“ Yes they were married immediately on his return 
from that business trip where he went the day after he 
left me. As she recalled that awful date, and the 
anger of the man, and her passionate pleading to be 
taken to his heart again, and his fierce rejection of her 
and her love, a chill of trembling siezed her, and the 
pulsations of her heart were so great she could scarcely 
breathe, and felt that she must certainly die if she 
allowed her mind to dwell upon that awful time, and 
the excruciating agony of suffering she then endured. 
Trying to put it from her, she seized her boy to her 
heart, and murmured lovingly to him, “my darling, my 
darling child ; thank God I have you, or I should go 


44 YES, I HAVE BEEN MARRIED.” 2ll 

mad. Oh, what intense suffering a woman’s heart can 
endure, and not break ! ” 

But she could not put the absorbing subject from 
her, try as she might. Her one desire was to know 
why Lucia had left her husband after being married so 
short a time. But she could arrive at no satisfactory 
conclusion. 

44 And so I am the rock their 4 Ship of Matrimony ’ 
split upon, am I? Well if I was the cause of their 
separation — I am already avenged, and should be satis- 
fied, for I swore to part him from any woman whom he 
might marry ; and came here to earn money, and gain 
time to carry out my plans. As I failed to be near 
them on their wedding day, of course I could not kill 
her in her bridal dress, and turn it into a shroud ; but 
decided to wait till she was a mother, then kill her, 
leaving as I am left, alone with a helpless little 

babe to care for. That would have made it ten times 
harder for Azm.” 

44 But now she is come away from him and her people. 
I wish I knew why. I will find out, if I have to ask 
her. And she does not ever call herself by his name. 
I wonder why ? There is a mystery in it all that I 
cannot understand.” 

As these vengeful thoughts flashed through her 
brain, they stamped her face with their wickedness, and 
her eyes with a vindictive light that made them fairly 
blaze. Her breath too came hard and fast, scorching 
the full lips with a fever heat, as it passed through 
them. 

Hugging to her heart, the child who had fallen 
asleep, she went on to herself; “Surely I cannot wish 
harm to one who has been so kind to my poor helpless 
little boy, for indeed she suffers too. But not as I have 


212 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


suffered. No, no other woman could suffer the agonies 
of the damned as I have, and live.” 

“ Ah, if I could only forget, forget that harrowing 
time ; forget him, and forget my fond foolish love. 
But I never shall, never while I have life left within 
me, or a brain to think with. 

“No I shall never forget that I gave him my dearest 
and best possessions ; my honor, my love, my faith. 
The honor has been profaned, the love cast aside, and 
my implicit faith destroyed till I believe in no one, 
and nothing. Scarcely in a God, who can let me suffer 
as I suffer day by day, and who gives me no recompense 
for my broken faith.” 

No, she could never forget the father of her child 
nor her love for him. Such a woman as she, never for- 
gets the man who won her first love ; or the mad pas- 
sionate kisses that burned into her very soul, marking 
their memory indelibly. She never forgets the elo- 
quence of eyes aglow with love, conveying as much as 
the heated words to the glad heart, that receives every 
token as dew to the thirsty soil ; and does not question 
whether this newly awakened life is to live for good, or 
bad ; forever, or for a day. 

Then arousing herself from the prolonged abstraction 
that had settled upon her, the widow startled Lucia, 
who still sat reading, by saying, “ Ah, you know noth- 
ing of that suffering m6re bitter than a score of deaths 
could inflict, for you never have been married. Have 
you?" she asked pointedly, waiting with a painful in- 
tensity for the answer, scarcely even daring to breathe. 

“ Yes, 1 have been married ,” softly responded Lucia, 
scarcely above her breath. 

“ And he has left you? ” 

“ No, I left him,” she replied, very softly. 


“YES, I HAVE BEEN MARRIED.” 213 

“ You left him ? You left your husband of your own 
free will? Oh, there must have been some flagrant 
reason ; for it takes so much to drag a woman from the 
man she loves. Perhaps you did not love himf she 
asked eagerly, excitedly, a new light coming into her 
magnificent eyes. 

“Yes, I loved him very dearly, loved him with all my 
heart, above everything in the world,” said the girl, 
clasping her hands tightly over her heart, “ but I had 
to leave him all the same.” 

“Did he love you? Did he love you?" she de- 
manded, grasping Lucia tightly by the arm, while a 
deadly palor spread over her excited face, as she awaited 
the girl’s reply. 

“Ah, with all the strength of his grandly noble 
manhood,” she responded proudly. 

“ Then in Heaven’s name why did you leave him ? 
Why did you leave him Miss Corletti. Tell me the 
reason pray ? ” she asked excitedly, still holding her by 
the arm. 

“ I left him that he might be free to go to another ; 
that other whom I considered had a previous and better 
claim to him.” 

“ Did he go to her ? Did he try to regain her ? ” she 
asked while an intense light of jealousy, love and re- 
venge all blazed from her grand eyes, eyes now fairly 
scintillating with the intensity of her emotions. 

“ I don’t know,” answered the girl. “ I came away 
so as not to know,” all the while wondering at the ex- 
citement of her calm and haughty neighbor. 

“ You don’t know, you truthfully don’t know?” she 
vehemently exclaimed, catching the surprised and 
frightened Lucia in her arms, and kissing her passion- 
ately; all the while ejaculating: 


214 


A BLONDE CBEOLE. 


“You left him free to go to her, his first love. You 
were strong enough to do that ? Thank God ! Thank 
God ! How happy you have made me. And I — well 
I did not believe there lived a woman equal to the or- 
deal, how much nobler, how much grander than I, you 
have been,” then holding her at .arms’ length, said, 
“Ah you are indeed a just, as well as a brave woman, 
and God will reward you for the sacrifice.” 

Lucia drew herself from the widow’s arms, feeling 
sure she had suddenly been bereft of her reason, and 
trembled as she looked at the beautiful features so dis- 
torted with passion, while she stood a little apart from 
her with her hands still tightly clasped over her heart, 
to stay its wild beatings. Then softly, but quickly 
drew near the door, saying : 

“I must go now.” 

“Yes, yes, go now,” exclaimed the widow, “and 
leave me a moment alone, or I shall go mad.” 

As Lucia closed the door behind her she thought, 
“poor woman you are already mad.” And was thank- 
ful that she had left the room and her mad presence 
without any bodily harm befalling her, and sighed — 
“ her sorrows must indeed have been great to effect her 
so keenly even now.” 

“ But I cannot imagine for the life of me, how the 
fact of my leaving Robert because he had a wife al- 
ready living, could affect and excite her so keenly. 
Could there have been a similar incident in her life? 
Could she have known him,?” And catching her 
breath, while the color all left her face, said, “ What 
was this woman to him ? Is it possible there was an- 
other chapter in his life of which I knew nothing? 
But that is impossible ! Her husband is dead. She is 
wearing mourning for him.” 


“YES, I HAVE BEEN MARRIED.” 215 

The instant the door was closed behind her the 
widow sprang forward and locked it. Then with her 
arms flung wildly up, and hands tightly clasped above 
her head, rapidly paced the few yards of carpet that 
covered her floor, like one indeed demented, all the 
while moaning as if her heart were being torn from her. 
But not one refreshing tear came to quench the fire 
that was scorching her dry aching eye-balls. 

“ Oh my darling,” she cried, “ my idol, my love, my 
husband. Why did my fierce thirst for revenge drive 
me to this great distance from you? Now that she has 
deserted you, left you to suffer alone in your misery, 
my place is by your dear side to comfort and cheer 
you.” 

“ Fool, fool that I have been. I am justly repaid 
now for my folly in hiding myself away from you in- 
stead of remaining where you could have come, and 
found the sympathy, the comfort you must need so 
sorely.” 

“ Oh, if I could but fly to you now — this very day. 
But I cannot, oh, misery, I cannot.” And wringing her 
hands frantically she threw herself face downwards on 
the mat before the fire, moaning and writhing like a 
creature in mortal agony. 

The gentle little boy did not know what to make of 
his mother’s intense grief, but drew timidly near, and 
with his sensitive little lip quivering, kissed her cold 
face and said, “ Ancie loves mamma, dear, dear, mamma. 
Kiss Ancie boy, mamma, and don’t ’oo k’y any more.” 

The mother heart within her bosom, speedily came 
to her relief, and as she seized the sweet child in her 
arms, the fount of her tears was touched, and she burst 
into a refreshing flood of weeping. Extravagantly kiss- 
ing his baby face, she cried midst the quivering sobs 


216 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


that were shaking her from head to foot; “Yes, my 
boy loves me, thank God. And his father shall love 
me again some day, please Heaven,” and with her child 
tightly clasped to her hungry heart, she wept and sob- 
bed till the storm of grief had passed, leaving her weak, 
trembling and exhausted. 


CHAPTER IX. 

“A FELLOW FEELING MAKES US WONDROUS KIND.” 

The Christmas and New Years seasons had come, 
and then passed away, leaving both sorrow and joy in 
their wake. The date was not marked as a special 
“ red letter ” day to the two lonely women, whose only 
pleasure was the retrospection of past joys indulged in 
at this glad season, but which had been so nearly ob- 
literated by sorrow and tears, as to be but shadowy 
memories, so long, long ago did they seem. How far 
behind was the sweet calm of content and peace that 
comes with perfect trust and love. That holy peace of 
which we are always reminded at the happy Christmas 
tide ; but which brought no glad tidings of joy, or 
balm of rest and peace to the two unhappy women, 
whose sorrows had been made so nearly akin. 

They did not try to seek oblivion in other joys, but 
their profession was such as to dispel gloom and sad- 
ness, for a time, for a few hours of each recurring day. 
But it was in the solitude of their own lonely lives, 
that the poignant pangs of remembrance and remorse 
would insinuate themselves, and completely obliterate 
all else in the gloom of their poisonous presence. 


“ A FELLOW FEELING MAKES US KIND.” 2lT 


It was strange how closely fate had woven together 
the life threads of these two women, and thrown them 
together without their previously having known each 
other ; and controlled their unhappy lives through the 
love of the same man ! 

Since that memorable day when Lucia had confessed 
to the actress her marriage, and separation from her 
husband, a sympathetic friendship had been cemented 
between them, and they found much solace in the com- 
panionship of each other. 

U A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind,” said 
the grand old poet in the long ago. And these two 
fair women, each with a sad past were very closely al- 
lied, and wondrous kind to each other, feeling the pity 
that is akin to love. 

They made no full and free confidence to one an- 
other. But they each believed they Had discovered the 
key note to the other’s sorrows and sufferings, but 
which was really hid deep down in their respective 
hearts. 

There were many and other bonds between these 
strangely sympathetic women, that knit them in a closer 
bond of friendship. They each had a history, were of 
the same religious creed, both Southerners, and both 
in “ The Profession.” 

Mrs. Francis had become more gracious to the lonety 
Southern girl who was so much attached to her dear 
little boy. She had succeeded in getting her “ on ” at 
the “ Casino,” and together they attended rehearsals 
and went to and from the theatre, caring for the little 
Ancie between them. 

Lucia had become quite a success at this pretty 
theatre, where her wonderful golden hair full of sub- 
tile shadows and dark chestnut eyes, veiled by long 


218 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


shadowy lashes, marked her essentially a prominent 
figure, standing well out against the back ground of 
others, whose blonde or brunette characters were de- 
pendent upon their “ make up.” She was extremely 
sinuous and graceful, and soon acquired that lightness 
of step and movement, so essential to the perfecting of 
a successful actress. 

Her fine contralto voice with its perfect training, stood 
her in good need now. True, the part was small, but 
she made the most of it possible. The manager had 
frequently wished in his heart that he had cast her for 
some more important part. But it was too late when 
he discovered her attractions and ability, to make any 
change, without causing much dissent and contention 
among the other members. 

Scarcely a night passed without her receiving one or 
more bouquets, and always an encore. Several times 
there had been passed up to the stage to her, a hand- 
some basket of flowers, always with the same card at- 
tached to it as was sure to be on one bouquet she re- 
ceived nightly, bearing only the words “ From an un- 
known admirer,” but nothing more, not even the cus- 
tomary note hidden among the flowers. 

Frequently she speculated, who the liberal donor 
might be, and what he looked like, but always failed to 
discover him among the audience. She carried her 
flowers home as proudly and tenderly as though their 
donor was her dearest friend. She loved flowers dearly, 
they reminded her of her own sweet South, where 
the balmy air is redolent with the perfume that rises 
from tangled masses of brightly blooming flowers and 
blossoming trees, like incense to the maker of light and 
so much earthly sweetness. 

The widow’s part was a more important one than 


“ A FELLOW FEELING MAKES US KIND.” 219 


Lucia’s, and she received a larger salary, but it was not 
such a showy one, and required much more careful act- 
ing. She looked a very beautiful woman in her char- 
acter, as she was in reality, and frequently received 
floral tributes, but never carried them home, unless 
little Ancie wished them for himself. 

In response to Lucia’s question, if she did not love 
flowers,” she quietly answered : 

“ Yes, very much.” 

“ Then why do you leave them to wither in the 
dressing-room, or for any one to carry away, who may 
want them ; why do you not bring them home with 
you ? ” asked she, wonderingly. 

“ Because I do not know, nor care for the giver. 
Until I can receive these tributes from hands dearer to 
me than my own, or even my life, I will receive them 
from none other,” she replied bitterly. 

The girl made no response to this unreasonable ex- 
planation, but told herself that Mrs. Francis was a 
strange woman if she expected her dead husband to 
rise up and present flowers to her on the stage. 

When Lucia had been at the “ Casino ” about three 
months, and was going off the stage one night, she saw 
by the notice-board that the bill was to be changed, 
and a new play put on the following week, for which a 
rehearsal was called next day. The notice also stated 
that only the stock would be retained, and those en- 
gaged for the present piece, must consider their engage- 
ment with the Casino Company at an end. This struck 
a chill to her heart, for she had hoped the piece would 
run the entire season, but now it was to be taken off, 
and, as she was engaged — with many others — only dur- 
ing the run of this piece, she could not expect to be 
kept on. 


220 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


She was very depressed as they wended their way 
home, and regretted the long hours she must now 
spend in her room alone, with only her thoughts for 
companions ; perhaps for the remainder of the winter. 

Mrs. Francis, who had joined the company at the 
commencement of the season (was considered one of 
the regular stock and consequently retained for the new 
piece) tried to encourage her, and said, 

“ Don’t be unhappy about your conge , you are bound 
to get an engagement before the season closes. There 
are so many theatres in New York, and changes always 
occurring. You are almost sure to get a position, even 
if it is only a temporary one before long, I am positive.” 

“ I hope so,” said Lucia, “ I suppose I should be 
more grateful for the past engagement, and less appre- 
hensive of the future, for I have been able to put a 
little by for the proverbial 4 rainy day,’ and, as you sa}q 
something may turn up before all my money is spent.” 

Still, when she had bade her friend and the little boy 
good-night, and came into her own room, it seemed less 
bright than on other nights, and the tears welled up to 
her eyes as she recalled the many lonely, sorrowful 
evenings she had passed there only three months ago, 
and would now be forced to endure again, and felt they 
would be more lonely, and even harder to bear, by con- 
trast to the gay scenes and bright pleasures she had 
latterly been enjoying. 

Lucia felt that the hardest of all, would be the ghost 
of the harrowing past, which she had succeeded in bury- 
ing for a time, but which she knew would be resur- 
rected the first evening she spent alone in her room. 
She shivered at the bare thought, and hoped she might 
soon get another engagement, and thus keep her sor- 
rowful life hidden deep down out of sight. 


LUCIA HAS A VISITOR. 


221 


She had not forgotten Robert Bruce nor her happy 
life of one month spent with him, nor the many months 
of sorrow and disappointment which succeeded it. 
But her time had been so honestly occupied recently, 
that she had not had leisure to grieve, happily, and 
when she had had thoughts of him, they were mostly 
pleasant ones. Now she felt that disagreeable memor- 
ies would intrude themselves, and she shrank from all 
that was sad, or gloomy, or painful, even though the 
sorrows were self-centred. 

Lucia’s love for her husband, had been very transient, 
very like some delicious wine, the delight of which was 
gone almost as quickly as the exhilaration had passed 
away. Like wine, too, it had been short lived, and had 
now become only a memory. 


CHAPTER X. 

LUCIA HAS A VISITOR. 

One cold blustering day in early March, Lucia and 
little Frank were standing at the window, watching the 
new fleecy flakes of snow, as they were driven hither 
and thither by the fierce winds, before being landed in 
the ice-bound streets, to be trodden under the polluting 
feet of man and beast. 

Until the present winter, Lucia had never seen the 
beautiful pure snow which falls so furtively quiet, cov- 
ering all defects and homely objects with its soft mantle 
of virgin white : and never tired of watching the drop- 
ping of “ feathers from fairies’ wings,” as Ancie called 
the larger fleecy flakes. 

While they were enjoying the mad pranks of some 


222 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


school children, who were sliding on a strip of smooth 
ice in the gutter before the house, the little slavey 
opened the door and announced : — 

“ A gentleman to see you, miss.” 

“ A gentleman to see me ? you must be mistaken, 
Jane.” 

“ No, miss ; he asked for Miss Corletti, and that is 
your name,” said the girl, positively. 

“ Where is the gentleman ? I suppose I must see 
him,” said Lucia, casting a rapid glance around her 
homely, but tidy room. Then her heart gave a great 
bound as the image of the one man of all the world, 
who would most want to see her, flashed before her 
mental vision. 

“ Here, miss, in the passage.” 

“ Up here ? ” exclaimed Lucia, with surprise in her 
face and voice. 

Then she stepped quickly toward the door, and in 
the gloom of the narrow passage saw a tall, slender 
man standing there, holding his hat in his hand. 

“ Oh, I beg pardon,” said she, “ will you walk in ? 
I never have visitors, and was a little taken by surprise. 
I thought the girl must have misunderstood the name.” 
As she made this apology, and looked at the handsome 
stranger, standing so gracefully erect, she thought she 
had seen the dark curly hair and blue-grey eyes before, 
but where, she could not remember, and was so utterly 
confused she scarcely knew what to say on the instant. 

As he took a seat at her bidding, and threw open his 
seal-lined overcoat, he said, 

“ Miss Corletti, I think you have forgotten me. I 
am Mr. Carrol, and had the pleasure of meeting you in 
New Orleans, when I was managing for Miss Cush- 
man.” 


LUCIA HAS A VISITOR. 


223 


Certainly she remembered him then. How that day 
and the fierce thunder-storm flashed across her mem- 
ory. How well, too, she remembered that they occu- 
pied a box that night to see Miss Cushman’s “ Meg 
Merrilies,” and her surprise that Robert Bruce made 
one of their little party. Mr. Carrol, too, came into 
their box during an intermission. 

Ah ! how well she remembered it all now. 

He smiled, and his fine white teeth gleamed under 
his silken moustachios, as he said : 

“ My memory is more faithful than yours, for I 
should have known you, no matter where I was fortu- 
nate enough to meet you. And I also remember that 
you sang me my favorite ballad, with more expression 
than I ever heard thrown into it before, or since,” and 
he continued : 

“ When Mr. Aron, of the Casino, gave me your 
name and address this morning, I remembered immedi- 
ately that it was the name of the lady I had met at the 
South, and when he described you, I felt sure you 
must be she, and am well pleased that I was not mis- 
taken.” 

By this time Lucia had regained her composure, and 
somewhat lost the poppy-like hue which she felt to be 
suffusing her face, from hair to throat, in one fierce 
blaze of crimson. 

After a few minutes of formal and unproductive con- 
versation, Mr. Carrol told her that he now was lessee 
of a theatre in New York, and managing his own com- 
pany. “ But, unfortunately,” he said, “ a young lady 
who played a very important part, had been suddenly 
seized with bronchitis, and as -she sung two songs on 
which the gist of the plot depended, it was a necessity 
that they should be well sung. As there was no one 


224 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


else in the company whose voice was equal to these 
songs, he did not know what to do, and in his extrem- 
ity had gone to the manager of the Casino, to see if he 
knew of any good voice out of an engagement, and 
‘ had been delighted to receive her name and address ; 
and laughingly said, “ I know you can sing, Miss Cor- 
letti, and Aron tells me you can act, so if you will only 
try to fill this vacancy for me, I shall be so relieved.” 

Lucia was afraid the part was beyond her ability, 
but was “ only too happy to be engaged, and would try 
her very best to give satisfaction.” 

Mr. Carrol appeared well satisfied with her answer, 
and then told her something of the “ business ” of the 
character. He had with him the two songs, and the 
* lines of the part, and left them with her to study. 

He said that he would call a rehearsal for to-morrow, 
and let her go through her part ; but if she would 
come to the theatre that same evening, and witness the 
play from the front, he thought it would give her a 
more correct idea of the plot, and the part she would 
have in it.” 

After writing her an order for a seat in the box usu- 
ally reserved for the profession, and begging her to try 
and be “up” in her lines, and ready for an appearance 
the night after to-morrow, he drew on his seal skin 
gloves, and buttoned his handsome overcoat, prepara- 
tory to facing the driving snow and cutting wind out- 
side. 

At the door he turned and said, “ I am very remiss 
Miss Corletti, but I never asked if you have a friend 
you would like to bring with you to-night. But if you 
have, I can eas$y make the order out for two.” 

Lucia thanked him, and replied, “ her only friend was 


LUCIA HAS A VISITOR. 225 

playing at tlie ‘ Casino ’ and could not get off, so she 
must come alone.” 

All the while Mr. Carrol had been talking to Lucia, 
gentle little Ancie had been kneeling in a chair looking 
out the window at the fast falling snow, and the chil- 
dren sliding on the ice ; sometimes softly laughing to 
himself, when one little urchin less sure footed than the 
others got a fall. 

As soon as Mr. Carrol had left the house, Lucy 
snatched up the boy in her arms, and dashed with him 
into her neighbor’s room to tell the good news. She 
was surprised at the salary she was to receive, quite 
twice what she had got at the Casino, and to her inex- 
perienced eyes, that had been a fabulous amount. Now 
she was to receive quite double. She was so elated, 
that she capered and danced about the room much to 
the amusement of the dear little boy, who stood by his 
mother’s side, laughing in happy childish glee. 

“Well, did I not prophecy truly, Miss Corletti? I 
felt sure you would get another engagement, but 
scarcely thought you would be promoted to the “legit- 
imate ” so soon, and without any trouble either ; well 
I congratulate you.” 

“ Yes, you are a dear good friend, and a true 
prophetess too, but you must not call me Miss Corletti. 
I am lonely for some one to call me Lucia; Miss Cor- 
letti seems so formal and far away. You must call me 
Lucia, and begin from this very minute,” said the im- 
pulsive, excited girl. 

“ Well, Lucia, I will,” said Mrs. Francis with her in- 
comparable smile dimpling the corners of her mouth. 
But what are you going to wear to-night? As you 
have a box, and some person may recognize you as one 
of the ‘ Casino ladies,’ you should try to look your 
15 


226 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


best, for I am sure there will be more than one glass 
levelled at you.” 

“ Oh, I don’t know,” exclaimed Lucia. “ I have not 
thought of it. But suppose I had better put on some- 
thing rather striking and nice, for the other girls on the 
stage will be sure to know I am the person who has 
just joined their company, and you know how they 
‘ pick one to pieces.’ ” 

“ Yes, I know their failings, unhappily,” said Mrs. 
Francis. “ Besides, Mr. Carrol would prefer that you 
look your best. Managers always require their mem- 
bers to be well dressed ; it casts reproach upon the 
company to have shabby members belonging to it.” 

“Well, if that is the case I had better consider the 
matter. I have one or two pretty dresses I could re- 
vive by the addition of fresh laces and I might buy a 
pair of new light gloves, but I don’t know what to do 
for a hat, as all mine are too dark and sombre for the 
theatre.” 

“ Suppose you treat yourself to a new one,” sug- 
gested Mrs. Francis. “ As you have now secured such 
a lucrative engagement, I should think you might af- 
ford to indulge in this piece of feminine extrava- 
gance and vanity, out of respect to the theatre that 
has brought you such a windfall.” 

“ What a temptress you are ? ” laughed Lucia, “per- 
haps I may be driven to this extravagance ; but I must 
go and look at my dresses now.” 

And in a few minutes she had pulled out her trunks 
and had their contents spread over the bed, trying to 
decide which she should wear. 

All her dresses (there were not many), had either 
constituted her trousseau , or been bought during that 
one memorable month when she was a happy wife ; and 


AT THE THEATRE. 


m 

the memory the sight of them forced upon her was in- 
tensely painful. She had never worn either of them 
except for Robert’s admiration, or to some place in his 
company: and since that sad time in her life when she 
had been forced to come away from him, they had been 
carefully folded away, hoping not to be brought out 
again until worn with smiles in his presence, to com- 
memorate a new era in their unhappy lives. 

Tenderly she smoothed down their velvety folds, and 
caressingly touched their silken texture. She felt it 
almost sacrilege to take these sacred mementoes from 
their keeping to wear in such gay scenes without him ; 
but told herself, “ necessity knows no law,” and as this 
was now her living, she must lay sentiment aside, and 
be practical. But she was surprised herself to find 
how much less acute the pain now was, at the sight of 
these remembrances of the past, than it had been a few 
months ago, and sighed, “ Ah well ! time robs all 
trouble of its sting. It is wisely ordained so too, or we 
poor, frail, erring creatures could not live and endure 
day after day, sorrows in all their first freshness of suf- 
fering.” 


CHAPTER XI. 

AT THE THEATRE. 

As the orchestra, with a grand flourish, executed the 
last bars of the overture, Lucia entered the box di- 
rectly in front of the stage. She felt very timid, and 
did not venture to show herself until the curtain was 
raised and the play begun. Then that she might better 
see the character which was to be hers, she drew near 


228 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


the front, and was so intently watching the stage, that 
she did not hear the door open, nor know that Mr. Car- 
rol was standing directly behind her. 

A young actress was trying to overcome the impos- 
sible, and sing a deep contralto song with a high so- 
prano voice. The knowledge that she was failing 
signally, made her so exceedingly nervous that she could 
scarcely utter a note, and her efforts were alike pain- 
ful to both audience and singer. Lucia was fairly 
grinding her teeth at the hollow empty notes the singer 
seemed capable only of producing, and impatiently tap- 
ping her little boot on the floor, when Will Carrol’s 
voice made her start, as he said : 

“ Awful, is it not ? A week of that voice, and I 
should be ruined. Poor girl, it is not her fault. I was 
obliged to ask her to take the part, for Miss Rose was 
so suddenly taken ill, that it left me but a few hours 
in which to make the necessary changes. The young 
lady is very good in her own part, but this character 
needs most skillful rendering — as well as a good singing 
voice — and a keen conception of the startling situa- 
tions. I hope you will be able to grapple with it at 
once Miss Corletti.” Then he asked: 

“ Do you think you can manage to have your dress 
made by the night after to-morrow? You know so 
much depends upon first appearance, and first impres- 
sions. ’Tis very short notice, I know.” 

The first act was over and as Mr. Carrol had taken a 
seat directly between her and the wall, she could not 
draw back out of sight, but had to remain and bear the 
many lorgnettes she saw leveled at her, but raised her 
fan to hide the crimson tide she felt sweeping over her 
face. As he seemed to be waiting for an answer, she 
replied : 


AT THE THEATRE. 229 

“ Yes, I think I can have my dress ready. I have 
one that will do with slight alterations.” 

“That is fortunate,” he remarked, scarcely thinking 
of what she said, so intent was he in watching her ani- 
mated face, and congratulating himself on having se- 
cured so lovely a girl for this small, but important part. 

And indeed he' was right, for Lucia was looking as 
though she had but just awakened to life, from a 
“ Titian’s ” canvas. 

Something of this he was thinking when she raised 
her face, all aglow with interest in the play, to his and 
said, 

“ I know I can sing that song, but am not so sure of 
the action, for you know I have not yet had a speaking 
part, but will study very hard, for I have so longed for 
the legitimate drama. But don’t you think I had bet- 
ter take another name ? I do not care to appear under 
my own, for several reasons. Besides, I shall be more 
severely criticised, if it be known that I have been 
elevated from the comic opera stage ! ” 

“Yes, I think it a good idea,” he agreed. “But I 
am now needed in another part of the house, and if you 
will excuse me, will leave you for a short time. But 
Miss Corletti, please do not go until I see you again,” 
and with a bow such as only graceful Will Carrol could 
make, left the box. 

As the curtain was again up, Lucia forgot him, her- 
self, and all else, in interest of the play. 

Presently, during an intermission she looked around 
at the sea of faces, all strangers to her. But she recog- 
nized some as habitues of the “ Casino,” and felt 
almost sure she saw one to whom she had always as- 
cribed her floral offerings ; and was convinced of it when 
she found he kept his eyes and glasses so constantly 


m 


A BLONDE creole. 


turned to her box. Presently he got up and left the 
house, then after a few minutes returned, and took his 
seat- with a most complacent expression on his suu- 
browned face. 

As the curtain dropped on the last act, Will Carrol 
returned, and said, 

“ Miss Corletti, the snow is falling heavily, you must 
let me send you home in my coupe. It is now at the 
door.” 

She thanked him, but declined his kind offer, remind- 
ing him that the street car passed so near her home 
that she would have no difficulty in reaching her desti- 
nation in safety. 

But he would not be refused, and showing his fine 
teeth in a superior smile, remarked, “ I am your mana- 
ger now, you must do as I tell you. Suppose you 
should gfet your feet damp in going even the short dis- 
tance to the house, and take a severe cold, so that you 
could not sing, what should I do then ? So you see there is 
much that is selfish in my offer after all.” 

“Yes,” she laughingly replied. “ That may be true, 
but how will you get to your hotel if I take your 
coupe.” 

“Oh, I shall not be ready to leave the theatre for an 
hour,” he rejoined, “ and by that time it will have re- 
turned.” 

All this was said as he led her toward the door, and 
without again asking if she would accept his kindness 
or not, called the carriage and handed her in. As he 
bade her good-night he reminded her of the hour for 
the rehearsal on the morrow, and added, “ by-the-by, 
Miss Corletti, I am afraid even a new name will not 
hide your identity, for a gentleman in the audience 


TEARS OF JOY. 


231 


recognized you, and came to ask me if you were not 
the young lady who had been singingat the 4 Casino.’ ” 
“ Oh, I am sorry,” exclaimed Lucia, “but please Mr. 
Carrol don’t give my address to any one.” 

“ I promise. Good-night ! ” 

“ Good-night ! ” 


CHAPTER XII. 

TEARS OF JOY. 

All day long had Lucia repeated her lines to the 
cue Mrs. Francis had given her, and sung her songs 
over and over, and over again, till every note and 
syllable was deeply cut into her memory, while to- 
gether they metamorphosed the dress she would wear 
in making her debut. 

Tenderly she stroked its sheeny folds, the while try- 
ing hard to stifle the sad memories that its brightness 
forced back upon her. This had been the chef 
d' oeuvre of her trousseau, and by the addition of some 
harmonious color and bright garniture, together she and 
her friend had executed a most beautiful costume. 

From extreme nervousness her hands were as cold 
as ice, and her heart thumping so loudly that she 
thought others could hear it as plainly as she. Her 
anxiety was increased by the sudden thought ; “ What 
if her lines should leave her, or the words of her 
songs, as she had known happen to some poor unfor- 
tunate before?” Just then Will Carrol came quickly 
towards her and whispered, “ Courage, I know you 
will succeed to-night, for I feel it in my heart.” 

Turning gratefully to him, the while feeling that he 


232 


A BLONDE CREOLE* 


had indeed been her salvation, she had only time to 
answer : 

“ I pray that you may be a true prophet,” when her 
cue was given and she stepped lightly, even confidently 
upon the stage. 

The instant she came into the bright blaze of light, 
and felt the glow of heat from the well filled house, 
and saw over the footlights the sea of upturned, ex- 
pectant faces, her courage and presence of mind all 
swept back to her as an inspiration, and made her even 
happy. 

Without the least nervousness, or haste, she spoke 
her lines full and clear, and smiled as calmly as 
though her heart was not beating to suffocation. 

The orchestra returned to their places and were pre- 
pared to give the key note at the exact moment of 
time. Then Lucia, all flushed and glad, stepped for- 
ward and sang the song of the evening in a contralto 
so deep, so rich, and so clear, that her audience was 
lost at the marvelous sweetness, as well as power of 
her rich young voice, and wondered that so childlike a 
girl could command such deep and pure chest-notes. 
For an instant they were silent, as though waiting or 
hoping for more; then, as one person, they burst into 
a grand applause, so loud and so long, that none could 
speak or the play go on. 

As the applause continued and the cries of >5 encore” 
grew louder, Lucia saw the success she had -scored and 
stepping forward repeated the last verse. 

Just as she finished singing and was about backing 
off the stage, an attendant hurriedly came down the 
central aisle bearing aloft a magnificent basket of 
flowers standing on a tripod covered with smilax and 
jessamine, and tied with broad white ribbon. 


TEARS OF JOY. 


238 


She smiled and bowed her thanks, then left the stage 
amidst such thunders of applause as to shake the 
strong building to its very rafters. 

The poor child was very much overcome, and when 
Will Carrol met her at the wings to offer his congratu- 
lations, her great brown eyes were full of grateful 
tears, and her heart so full she could scarcely speak. 

Her second song was as successful. 

When the evening was over, and she had received 
the congratulations of the other members of the com- 
pany honest enough to “render unto Caesar,” and was 
in the act of leaving her dressing-room with the basket 
of flowers in her hand, Mr. Carrol hurriedly came up 
to her and said : 

“ You do not know how glad I am at your perfect 
success to-night. You have lifted a world of anxiety 
from my shoulders. But you can never cany that ton 
of flowers home yourself Miss Corletti, you must take 
them in my coupe.” 

“No, no,” she replied, “ they are very light. I can 
easily carry them myself. I am so much obliged to 
you, but indeed I must not deprive you of your car- 
riage ; ” and was trying to pass him with a “good- 
night,” which he pretended not to understand; but 
walked along at her side to the street, opened the 
coupe door, and in a quiet, but commanding tone, said : 

“No\tf^iiss Corletti, step in, and I will hand you 
your portable garden.” 

Then to the coachman, “ Qome back for me.” And 
with a cheery “ Good-night,” closed the carriage door, 
and she was quickly bowled along through the cutting 
March winds to her humble lodgings. 

As she lightly tripped up -stairs, bearing her trophy 
in both hands, Mrs. Francis ran out of her room ex- 


234 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


claiming, 44 Come in, come into my room, and tell me 
what success. See I have a nice little supper spread 
for you.” 

At the sight of her sweet face and kindly voice, the 
tense nerves of the excited girl could no longer re- 
strain themselves, and throwing herself into the arms 
of her friend, she burst into a tempestuous flood of 
weeping. 

44 Lucia, I hope you have not failed,” anxiously said 
the widow, quickly relieving the weeping girl of her 
wraps. 

“ No, no,” she answered between her sobs, “ I did 
splendidly, and Mr. Carrol is so pleased : but I have 
felt like crying all the evening, and could hold back the 
tears no longer.” 

“ Oh,” said Mrs. Francis, much relieved, 44 they are 
tears of joy, are they? Well, come have some supper. 
I know you must be hungry. There is nothing like 
singing and acting for giving one an appetite. I was 
very much afraid you would get home before me, and 
hurried all I could to give you this little treat. So you 
must sit right down and have some coffee while it is 
hot; then you can tell me all about your success,” and 
the widow cheerfully tried to infuse some of her glad- 
ness into the hysterical girl. 

With the tears still glistening on her long lashes, but 
an amused smile playing round her ruby dips, Lucia 
produced the card from her floral souvenir, remarking : 

“Look here, the same card, the same handwriting, 
and the same words : 4 From an unknown admirer ; ’ 

but there is something more on it to night, for the card 
adds 4 and one who wishes you success/ Just think, on 
my first night too, I wonder how he found out that I 
was engaged at the new theatre?” 


TEARS OF JOY. 


235 


“ Oh, I don’t know,” remarked Mrs. Francis, elevat- 
ing her eyebrows with an expression of indifference, 

men go to a great deal of trouble, and expense too, 
judging from the size and contents of that basket, to 
show appreciation to those who amuse and entertain 
them. These roses are very lovely, and so sweet,” she 
continued, burying her face in the mass of fragrant 
flowers. 

While they ate their supper, Lucia told her of her 
songs, her acting, and the congratulations she had re- 
ceived, and how pleased Mr. Carrol was at her success. 
Then with a sly look at her friend said, 44 and he made 
me come home in his coupe again to-night, because I 
had this large basket of flowers to bring. But T am 
determined not to accept his carriage to-morrow night. 
The other girls will be awfully jealous of me, if I con- 
tinue to receive favors from the manager, and will then 
make it dreadfully uncomfortable for me.” 

44 1 think you are quite right. Don’t aggravate their 
spite,” advised Mrs. Francis : 44 but perhaps Mr. Carrol 
will not offer it again. You see he could not do much 
less the other night, because you were his guest at the 
theatre, and to-night you made a successful debut. 
After this you may have to get home as best you can,” 
laughed she. 

But Lucia did not think so, and bidding her friend 
good-night, took up her flowers and went to her own 
room, with her brain full of Will Carrol, and his kind- 
ness to her, but fully determined 44 to hurry home the 
next night, and not give him a chance to offer her his 
carriage.” 

As she prepared for bed, she sighed, 44 Poor Robert, I 
wish he were here ; he would have been so pleased with 
nry success to-night ; ” never thinking for a moment of 


236 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


the incongruity of the thing, for had Robert Bruce 
been there in the position of protector or husband, he 
would certainly not have let her played at all. 

And as she laid her tired little head on the pillow, 
and closed her eyes she smilingly murmured, “ I am so 
glad Mr. Carrol is pleased. How kind he is to me, and 
how very handsome he is too ? ” 

Lucia had not really forgotten Robert Bruce, but 
time had certainly robbed her grief of its acute suffer- 
ing, and she could now think of him, and her past life 
without awakening any pang greater than a sigh. 

Never for a moment did she think of putting another 
in his place. Her admiration and liking for Will Car- 
rol were founded on gratitude for his kindness to her. 
And she would not have been a woman had she not 
seen and known that he was handsome, and always 
courteous, but always the manager. One certainly 
born to legislate. It was impossible not to do as he 
wished ; yet he did not seem to command. There was 
a subtle power of authority hovering about all con- 
nected with him, that made it just as impossible to exe- 
cute one’s own wishes, or desires — if in opposition to 
his — as it would be to forbid the dawning of the day, 
or the setting of the sun. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE DAWN OF A NEW LOVE. 

The next night, the second of Lucia’s appearance in 
her new character, Mr. Carrol came, at the conclusion 
of the song, and expressed his pleasure at her render- 
ing of it, and her conception of the part generally. 


THE DAWN OF A NEW LOVE. 


237 


He made some casual remarks on the weather — that 
ever ready theme when other topics fail — and was then 
called away. 

When the last act was over, she hurriedly changed 
her dress, threw on her wraps and left the theatre with- 
out seeing him again. She felt a strange disappoint- 
ment she could not understand when she finally found 
herself alone in the frosty street so late at night, and 
told herself it was because she had been acchstomed 
latterly to have Mrs. Francis as an escort. But yet 
her heart was not altogether satisfied with this rea- 
soning ; and she wondered if her manager had missed 
her when he returned to the stage and found her 
gone. Then told herself, 

“Nonsense, he is too full of business to miss me or 
any one else, except from our parts, and is just as kind 
and pleasant to the others as he is to me.” 

Next evening when she was dressed for her part, and 
stood at the wings awaiting her cue, she heard his low 
rich voice giving some directions to the scene shifters, 
and as his footsteps drew near, she felt the warm blood 
creeping over her face in a conscious blush as he ex- 
tended his hand and said : 

“I am glad to tell you that your voice and acting has 
given extreme satisfaction to some of the critics I was 
most fearful of. One would not mind so much if this 
class of gentry were always honest, and just, in their 
criticisms, but they are so full of prejudice that they 
sometimes lose sight of merit altogether, and I was a 
little fearful of what they might write of you, as your 
name is so entirely new to them.” 

Lucia was trying to find suitable words in which to 
thank him, when he remarked, as though it were a 
secondary thought, 


238 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


“ I did not get to see you last evening after the per- 
formance, nor to tell you, ‘ good-night ’ : I was called 
away to the office, and did not return to the stage 
again. I hope you got home all right.” 

She had only time to assure him that she had no 
difficulty, when her cue was given, and she had to 
leave him at the wing, his white teeth gleaming in a 
smile of encouragement to her. Sh^ had no time for 
any further thoughts of him, but threw herself, heart 
and soul, into her part, and felt that she was scoring a 
greater success even than she had the two previous even- 
ings. 

The applause of the delighted audience was as wine 
to her responsive nature, and she sang, and acted as 
though she were inspired. Her wonderful eyes took on 
a new light, while every feature of her animated face 
reflected the intensity of her emotion. 

Was it because she felt that the blue grey eyes of 
Will Carrol were following her every movement from 
the side wings, that made her intoxicated with the en- 
thusiasm that she was awakening in herself, as well as 
her audience ? 

She told herself, “ It is because I am a member of 
his company and must please him.” But her heart 
laughed at this fallacy, for it knew by a language all 
its own, that there were other reasons for her wishing 
so earnestly to please him. 

She had answered the several encores and was finally 
off the stage for a few minutes. As she moved towards 
the green room to get a chair that she might sit quietly 
down and rest awhile, Will Carrol came up to her, and 
with admiration, as well as appreciation beaming from his 
eyes, took her two baby hands in his own and said, 
“ You are surpassing yourself this evening. Last night 


THE DAWN OF A NEW LOVE. 2o9 

I thought it impossible for you to sing better. And 
your acting is all that can be desired. We are safe 
now for the rest of the season. And next, if you will 
remain with us, you shall be leading lady.” 

Lucia was already so intensely excited by the applause 
and full sympathy with her character, that she could 
scarcely speak. She lifted her eyes, glistening with 
grateful tears to his face and said— 

“ Oh you are so kind to me. Indeed Mr. Carrol I 
cannot find words to thank you, but will do all I can 
to show my gratitude in my acting,” and with a smile 
that was like sunshine on the rain drops of her tears, 
added, “ and you know ’tis said that actions speak 
louder than words.” 

Will Carrol laughed at the pun she had perpetrated 
on the old proverb, and continued talking to her till 
she had to go on again. “ This is Saturday night,” he 
said, “ I suppose you are not sorry to-morrow will be 
Sunday, so that you may rest. To you this has been a 
very exciting week, but you must not enter so com- 
pletely into the spirit of your part, or it will wear you 
out. Save yourself all you can, or I am afraid you will 
be siezed by some nervous fever. You are too intense. 
But I suppose when the character is a little older to 
you, the exhilaration will wear off somewhat,” then ex- 
tending his hand said, 

“ Good-night, I am needed in front now,” and was 
quickly gone. 

How was it that all the animation, all the satisfac- 
tion, all the contentment she had felt awhile ago was 
now gone from her, all the light had left her heart? 
Even the stage was darker since his presence was with- 
drawn. 

She tells herself, “ it is the reaction, and I will be as 


240 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


happy, as exuberant again, when I go on and see the 
sympathetic faces raised to me, and hear the glad, joy- 
ous applause.” But when this happiness did not 
return with her next appearance, she says, “ It is be- 
cause I am so tired, and will be glad to get home, and 
am happy that to-morrow will be Sunday, that I may 
rest.” Then intruded the thought : “ to-morrow will be 
Sunday, and you cannot come to the theatre.” But what 
of that? Only that she will not see him ; not see her 
manager till Monday, and that seemed so long to wait. 

Had any one hinted to Lucia that her fidelity to 
Robert Bruce was waning, she would have repudiated 
the charge with scorn. Did she not think of him 
nearly every day, and was she not still patiently wait- 
ing for fate to release him from bonds that bound him 
to another “ till death did them part ? ” 

But was it not natural that time should salve over 
the wound that the mistake of youth had inflicted on 
her heart, that the life of excitement and desire to 
mount the successive rungs of the ladder to fame in 
her profession, should crowd the past from her memory, 
if only for a portion of each day ? 

She told herself “ that the remembrance of her past 
was all buried in her heart like a sealed book, ready to 
be brought forth at any moment, and its few sentences 
of short-lived joy and happiness read, and the many 
pages of sorrow that followed, with the leaves turned 
down to mark the memorable dates, and painful inci- 
dents written thereon, in letters of fire and anguish.” 

Poor child ! she did not understand her own heart. 
But who does, for that matter? It is an organ very 
independent of the rest of the human machinery, and 
is the lever that controls our destinies, our happiness 
and our lives, quite regardless of brain or will power, 


THE DAWN OF A NEW LOVE. 


241 


Nor did Lucia know that she, with her ardent tem- 
perament, her intense nature, and her hot Southern 
blood, was capable of such mad, all-absorbing, passion- 
ate love as then slept dormant in her heart, and which 
quiet Robert Bruce had no power to bring forth. She 
met him, admired him, and respected him while her 
heart was yet smiting under, the keen insults of Frank 
Orlando’s treacherous love. Bruce offered her a re- 
lease from that embarrassing situation, and she married 
him. 

That which she mistook for love, was merely fond 
gratitude for his great kindness to her during that one 
month of married life. 

How often since then, had her laughing rejoinder to 
Viva Jackson recurred to her “that she loved no one 
any better.” 

It was more than probable, that had she remained his 
wife one year, she would have learned to understand 
her heart, and found out her mistake. 

Poor child ! there was a new era dawning in her life. 
Already was she in love, but the sensation was so new, 
so novel, that she did not recognize its import, nor 
comprehend its signilicance. She was no duller of com- 
prehension than other girls, but who realizes the exact 
moment in their lives when they are seized by this con- 
suming fever, this madness which affects brain and 
heart alike? We frequently talk of falling in love; 
but who marks the exact moment when the fall occurs? 

She thought that the glad young blood which surged so 
madly through her heart, andveins, at the voice or touch 
of Will Carrol, was but a nervous desire to acquit her- 
self well in his eyes, because he was her manager, and 
carried her destiny in his hands. 

Aye ! and so he did, if she had only known it, 

16 


242 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

MURDER AND SUICIDE. 

The April winds blew cold and sharp, savoring more 
of the winter past, than approaching spring, and forced 
pedestrians into a brisker pace, albeit the sun shone 
down in genial brightness, melting the little patches 
of snow, still lingering in sheltered places. 

A sweet peace and calm, had settled over the active 
bustling city, and wore that repose which the blessed 
Sabbath alone can give to all nature, making it so es- 
sentially different from the other six days. 

The streets had seemed very deserted, for a couple 
of hours, but since the many churches had wafted up 
their incense of praise and prayer to the author of all 
being, and the “ peace which passes all understanding,” 
had been invoked upon saint and sinner, the doors of 
cathedral, as well as chapel, were thrown open, and 
myriads of worshippers streamed out into the glad sun- 
shine, with their prayer-books devoutly clasped in their 
well-gloved fingers. 

Among the number was brown-eyed Lucia. Many 
recognized her as the beautiful young actress with the 
sweet voice at the new theatre, and drew their friends’ 
attention to her by a nudge or a whisper. 

She was looking very young and rosy, as she hurried 
along with the crowd, in her handsome tailor-made 
gown of two shades of brown. 

Many of the young beaux who furtively watched her 
light buoyant step as she passed them, heartily wished 


MURDER AND SUICIDE. 


243 


they were acquainted with her, for they would be very 
proud to be seen promenading with so fair a girl. But 
she was always alone when not in company with the 
“ widow of the Casino ” and her little boy. 

“ Such a handsome pair as they make too,” said a 
young swell to his friend. “We call them ‘Sunshine 
and Shadow.’ And the strangest thing is that they 
are creoles,” commented the speaker, glad to air his 
knowledge of two of the most beautiful women on 
the New York stage ; “ and they refuse all introduc- 
tionstoo.” 

All unconscious of these remarks — and unlike 
gossip generally, it bore the hallmark of truth — Lucia 
quickly wended her way home. 

When she had relieved herself of hat and jacket, 
and went into her neighbor’s room to have a little chat, 
and play with Ancie, Mrs. Francis asked, “ Where have 
you been ? The services are long since over, and I re- 
turned home quite an hour ago.” 

“ The sun is so bright that I could not resist its in- 
vitation for a little walk after church,” responded her 
young friend. 

“ I stopped and bought the paper at the corner, then 
came directly home — Ancie boy and I.” Presently 
she asked, “ Have you seen the paper to-day ? ” 

“No ! ” answered Lucia. 

“ Well, there is an awful case of murder and suicide 
in the telegraphic news from New Orleans ; let me find 
it,” she remarked, turning over the pages; “I don’t 
know the names, but you may. Here it is,” then 
read : — 

■s 

“A DIVORCED HUSBAND SHOT BY HIS MAD WIFE, 
WHO THEN DROWNS HERSELF.” 


244 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


Lucia, who had been playing with the boy, and not 
very attentive when Mrs. Francis first spoke, now 
put the child quickly down, and sprang to her feet, 
crying, “ What did you say ? shot by a mad wife ? ” 
And with a deadly terror gleaming from her large 
e} r es, and a sudden pallor spreading over her face, ex- 
claimed : 

“ What name? Pray read the name ; ” and held her 
breath tightly for the name, a secret intuition told her, 
she would know all too well. 

“ Bruce,” Mrs. Francis calmly read, “ Robert 
Bruce.” 

“ Oh, Robert ! Robert ! and dead” shrieked Lucia, 
then sank all in a heap to the floor in a dead faint. 

Mrs. Francis was so startled at the swooning of Lucia, 
that she nearly fainted herself. 

However, she sprang to her side — all the time won- 
dering what this Robert Bruce could be to the girl — 
bathed her face and hands with eau de cologne , and was 
presently rewarded by seeing her open her eyes. 

Lucia then asked in a dazed way, “ What is it?” As 
the awful import of the horrible news flashed to her 
stupefied brain, she sprang up, all conscious now, and 
wringing her hands cried, “ Robert ! Robert ! I shall 
never see you again, Oh, why did I leave you Robert, 
my darling. Murdered, and by her ! Oh, what shall I 
do ? Murdered by that insane wretch. Oh, I shall go 
mad myself.” 

Mrs. Francis did not know what consolation to offer, 
since she knew none of the particulars, nor what de- 
gree of relationship existed between Lucia and this 
Robert Bruce. So she only followed the girl up and 
down the room, with her arm fondly clasped around 
her waist, the while murmuring : 


MtJRDER and suicide. 


245 


“ Poor dear Lucia, I am so sorry for you.” 

The little boy still stood just where she had put him — 
when this terrible news burst upon her — with his sensi- 
tive lip quivering and his pretty black eyes brimming 
over with tears. He could not in the least comprehend 
the tragic ending to his little game of romp. 

When Lucia could command her voice sufficiently to 
speak coherently, Mrs. Francis said : 

“ I am sorry Lucia, but tell me dear, was the poor 
murdered man your brother, what kin was he to 
you ?” 

“What kin? What kin was Robert Bruce to me?” 
wailed Lucia, “ He was my husband. My own dear, 
kind husband.” 

“Your husband!” gasped Mrs. Francis; “do you 
know what you are saying Lucia? Your husband ivas 
Frank Orlando, and he is not murdered, thank God.” 

“Frank Orlando my husband ! ’’indignantly repeated 
Lucia, the sobs dying out of her throat at the bare sug- 
gestion, “Frank Orlando? No, a hundred times no; I 
married Robert Bruce, and never saw Frank Orlando 
after my marriage.” 

For a full minute, the two women stood gazing into 
each other’s faces with amazement, and incredulity 
plainly written on every feature. As if struggling 
with some great emotion, Mrs. Francis gasped as 
though for breath, while the veins stood out on her 
neck like cords. Then flinging her arms high in air 
she cried, “ Thank God ! Thank God my Frank is not 
married. No my darling is not married,” and laughed 
so unnaturally, as almost to freeze the blood in Lucia’s, 
veins ; then instantly burst into a torrent of tears. 

Her fierce weeping and hysterical laughter, all sur- 
prised poor Lucia so much, that she forgot her own sor- 


246 


A BLONDE CIIEOLE. 


rows for a moment, and wondered what had come over 
her friend ; and thought, “ surely she has gone mad,” 
but could define no reason for such demonstrations 
of weeping, and thanksgiving, on her part. 

Lucia herewith burst into a fresh flood of tears and 
moaned, “Robert, my darling Robert is dead ! dead! 
dead ! ” 

The girl’s lamentations seemed to arouse Mrs. 
Francis to action, for she sprang forward and seizing 
Lucia by the arm demanded : 

“Why did you not tell me that you were not the 
wife of Frank Orlando? Why did you not tell me 
Lucia, and thus spare me all these past months of 
agony? Oh my heart will burst with gladness, for I 
know my darling, my love, the father of my child is 
waiting and searching for me. Why did you let me 
think you were married to my Frank,” she questioned, 
holding the frightened girl fast in her fierce tremulous 
grasp, all the while laughing hysterically in her face. 

“ Why did I not tell you? ” said Lucia. “ Because I 
had no idea you harbored such a foolish thought. But 
what is Frank Orlando to you ? You never told me that 
you even knew him.” 

“ What is he to me ? Everything. Everything , and 
more, He is the father of my child. Don’t you know me 
now Lucia? Can you not guess that I am Aline? Yes 
I am Aline, Lucia. It was I who wrote you that letter 
begging you not to marry him — that fatal letter which 
angered him so, and made him drive me from him. I 
then swore I would separate him from any woman 
whom he might marry, and came here to await the 
ripening of my vengeance. I heard you were married, 
and as he swore he would marry you, I thought he 
had.” 


MURDER AND SUICIDE. 


247 


It was Lucia who was now stricken with surprise. 
She drew herself away from the embrace of the elder 
woman a^d said, — 

“ You Aline? You? Oh, how you have deceived 
me. And I loved you and little Ancie so dearly! And 
this is his child ? He who insulted me by offers of the 
love and allegiance he owed you, and that dear 
boy?” 

“ No Lucia, I did not deceive you. I never told you 
anything about myself. You conceived the impression 
that 1 was a widow, and I did not undeceive you, that 
is all. But had you told me that you were not married 
to Frank Orlando, I should then have told you who I 
Was. Even now, Lucia, I am fearful lest the knowledge 
of my being Aline will make you draw your love from 
me, and from my dear little boy who loves you so 
fondly. This will make me very unhappy, for you are 
the only friend we have in this strange, cold, uncon- 
genial city.” 

Of course Lucia had not known this beautiful woman 
was Aline, nor did she know the reserve, which she mis- 
took for hauteur, was a jealous guarding of her secret 
love for the man whom she thought she — Lucia — had 
married. Nor did she know that Aline had more than 
the usual amount of fidelity, and love, and endurance 
in her great passionful heart, than most women are 
blessed, or cursed with. 

This grand denoument petrefied Lucia so completely, 
as to nearly obliterate her own grief for the moment. 
She could only stand, with her great brown eyes star- 
ing into vacancy, and her white lips dumb and con- 
tracted with pain. Then when she saw the fatal paper 
laying on the floor where it had fallen from Aline’s 
hands, and the large sensational type announcing the 


248 


A BLONDE CBEOLE. 


murder and suicide — so painfully confirming her sor- 
row — she picked it up, and read the ghastly notice to 
the very end. It was not a long one, only the bare 
facts which the wire had flashed to the press the night 
before, it ran — 

“ A very sad tragedy was enacted at Bay St. Louis, 
La. yesterday afternoon, just after the New Orleans 
train had left the former fashionable watering place, 
and was crossing the long bridge to the opposite side of 
the Bay. 

Mr. Robert Bruce, ex-May or of Birmingham, and 
Congressman from Louisiana had just entered the train 
and taken his seat when a woman sitting directly be- 
hind him, drew a revolver from her bosom, and shot 
him in the back. Then, in the confusion which ensued, 
she rushed to the platform of the car and springing into 
the bay, was drowned. Her body has not yet been re- 
covered. Mr. Bruce lived about an hour. His remains 
were carried on to Birmingham, for which city he was 
en-route, and where he owned much mining property, 
and was greatly respected. The murderess and suicide 
was the insane wife of the unfortunate gentleman, from 
whom he had been divorced about ten years. Last 
spring he married a fair creole of New Orleans who it 
is believed, is now in Europe cultivating her voice. 
The young wife has our deepest sympathy. The pain- 
ful incident has cast deep gloom over New Orleans 
where Mr. Bruce had many warm friends.” 

As the paper fell from her nerveless fingers she sob- 
bed, “ No, there is no mistake, ’tis he, my Robert. Oh, 
I had so hoped it might be some other.” 

).. As she moved toward the door Aline sprang after 
her, and pleaded ; “ Lucia don’t be angry with me, and 
don’t blame me too severely, you are too good and too 
pure, I know, to be the companion and friend of such 
as I, but oh, do not condemn me entirely.” 


WOMAN SITTING DIRECTLY BEHIND HIM, DREW A REVOLVER FROM HER BOSOM AND SHOT HIM 













































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. 


























































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MURDER AND SUICIDE. 


249 


“Condemn you Aline ? Heaven forbid, for I am too 
full of sin myself to cast a stone at you. Was I not 
the wife of Robert Bruce for one month, and yet not 
married to him ? Not such a marriage as our Holy 
Church sanctions and blesses?” 

“Yes I know,” said Aline all her hysterical joy now 
merged into sympathy for her stricken friend; yet 
she was exceedingly glad that Lucia had married Mr. 
Bruce and not Frank, for now the latter was free to 
marry her, if he would. “Yes I know now Lucia, but 
when you told me that you had left your husband 
through another woman, of course I thought that other 
woman was myself, since I was under the impression 
that you had married Frank. But I understand now , 
why you left Robert Bruce, for of course you were not 
his wife if he had another still living ; for the divorce 
made him none the less her husband, as you and I both 
know,” and continuing she said, 

“ What are the decrees of a paltry court of man’s 
governing as compared to the courts of heaven ? And 
has not God given us His laws through the Church, by 
which we are to be governed and judged ? I am sorry 
for you dear Lucia, sorry from the very bottom of my 
heart. But you did quite right toHeave him, for you 
were no more his wife — than I was the wife of Frank 
Orlando. Only )^>u did not enter into sin knowingly, 
while I — well, I sinned consciously, and with my eyes 
quite wide open to the consequences.” 

As these words fell on Lucia’s ears like echoes of her 
own thoughts and convictions, the tears streamed down 
her pale cheeks, and she tried to answer, but no words 
would come through her white lips, strive as hard as 
she might to form them : so weeping as only loving, 
passionate women, weep in the excess of a great be- 


250 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


reavement, she turned to the solitude and security of 
her own room, and there abandoned herself to the per- 
fect satisfaction of unrestrained tears, safe from the 
gaze, even, of sympathy. She cared for nothing now, 
but to be left alone, bearing her misery as best she 
might. 


CHAPTER XV. 

“T HAVE LOST A DEAR FRIEND.” 

The cold pale stars in the frosty sky, kept watch and 
ward with Lucia all through the night, while the slow 
hours dragged their tardy lengths into the light which 
heralded the break of daj^. When the world was 
awakening to its cares and toils, only then did her ach- 
ing brain and weary heart, find respite from the turmoil 
of thought, in the blessed oblivion of sleep. 

Fate had been very cruel to this poor girl nearly all 
her young life. Yet she tried to be gay and joyous 
when adversity lifted its crushing weight from her 
heart long enough for her to rise superior to its man- 
date. She loved all that was bright, and gay, and joy- 
ous, yet the shadows of life seemed to be ever forcing 
themselves upon her : but like the sunshine” — that 
she was called — she would burst through the smallest 
rift in the cloud of her sorrows, and warm and brighten 
all within its glad beams. 

The day, which had been so long in coming during 
the cold dark night, dawned at last, and with weary 
limbs and unrefreshed brain, she prepared to go to the 
postal station — to which she had all her letters ad- 
dressed poste restante — hoping for a telegram from Viva 


“I HAVE LOST A DEAR FRIEND.” 251 

or Madame Orlando. She knew the wire could only 
bring her the bare facts, even less than she already 
knew, still it would be a bond of sympathy between 
her, and the dear ones, left so far behind. 

Yes, there was a telegram for her. She seized it 
eagerly and tore open the envelope. It was from Viva 
Jackson, who tried to prepare her for the bad news she 
was fearful of breaking too suddenly, not knowing the 
poor girl had already heard the worst. It read : 

“ Prepare to hear very sad news of R. B. Am writ- 
ing you full particulars to-day.” 

Lucia at once telegraphed back : 

“ Saw the news of murder and suicide in yesterday’s 
paper. Am anxiously awaiting your letter.” 

She sent the address of her room, that the reply 
might come to her without any delay. But alas, the 
next day, and the next, must pass before it could reach 
her, and she asked herself how she would live through 
them, waiting the sad tidings of one who could never 
now be more than a memory, or fill the void in her 
heart. 

As she dragged her weary steps, so unlike her own, 
up the stairs, and through the dark passage on the way 
to her own room, Aline opened her door, and asked : 

“ Lucia, will you not come in and see Ancie and me? 
I have some nice hot coffee made and waiting for you. 
Will you not drink some, dear, it will warm and re- 
fresh you ? ” she said, with a reluctance, as if she were 
afraid of being refused. 

While Lucia hesitated for an instant, the little boy 


252 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


pushed past his mother, and, taking her by the hand, 
said, “ Turn in, Lucie, Ancie wants ’oo.” 

She could not resist the boy’s pleading eyes, up- 
raised to her’s with such love and trust beaming from 
out their dark depths, and kissing his rosy cheeks, she 
went into the room, whicli the April sunshine was doing 
all in its power to warm and brighten. 

As she stood before the morning light, that sent its 
golden shafts through the eastern window, Aline was 
startled to see the change, that one night of unrest, and 
suffering, had wrought in the girl’s fair face from which 
all the blood had flown. The brown eyes seemed 
larger and deeper from the dark circles that underlined 
them, and a wan, sad look had settled down on her 
features, depriving the lips of all color, and making her 
look positively ill. 

She sank wearily into a seat, and tried to steady 
the quiver in her voice, as she thanked Aline for her 
kindness, and the dainty little breakfast she knew was 
laid to try and tempt her. But only by a strong re- 
solve did she keep back the flood of tears striving so 
hard to master her. 

Neither of these two women, whom fate had allied so 
strangely, dared broach the subject so near the heart of 
each. After a vain attempt at conversation, which 
would not flow naturally, try all they could, Lucia took 
the telegram from her pocket and said : 

“ I had a wire from Viva Jackson, an old schoolmate, 
and friend of mine at New Orleans, but it tells me no 
more than I already know — indeed not as much, except 
that she is writing the particulars. How dreary the 
waiting for the letter will be. It seems now, that my 
whole life is to be but one sad series of waiting.” 

At last the long miserable hours of that most miser- 


“I HAVE LOST A DEAR FRIEND.” 253 

able day, drew to a close. She was glad to go to the 
theatre and forget her misery, if possible, amidst its 
bright scenes and surroundings. 

Many times during this dreary day had the thought 
of that gay place and the recollection of Will Carrol 
recurred to her ; but she had forced them from her as 
treacherous, and heartless, to him so recently dead. 
But while she dressed for her part, the waves of mem- 
ory rolled and dashed over her, sweeping away all self- 
imposed barriers, as she recalled how near was the first 
anniversary of that ever memorable day, that one on 
which she stood before the altar, supposing she was be- 
ing made a happy wife for all her natural life. 

She had a hard struggle to keep back the tears, while 
she asked herself if Will Carrol would care less for her 
if he knew her sad past ; and thought, how mortified 
she would be, should some unforeseen circumstance re- 
veal to him the fact that she stood in the doubtful po- 
sition of neither maid, nor wife, nor widow. How 
earnestly she hoped he might never know. Then she 
half angrily asked herself, “ what he was to her that 
she should care for his opinions.” But her heart gave 
no satisfactory answer. She knew that she was not 
looking her best, and tried to make up the deficiency 
by stage arts, but failed to remove the traces of grief 
from her eyes and face. 

As she came from the dressing-room, which she 
shared with the star, ready dressed for the stage, she 
encountered Mr. Carrol on the way. He extended his 
hand, and smiled a welcome to her. After a few 
minutes of conversation on the usual topics, he asked : 

“ Are you not feeling well to-night, Miss Corletti?” 

She assured him she was as well as usual, but he 
looked steadily in her eyes and said, “ Then you must 


254 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


be tired, for your eyes look very weary. Were you 
out, among any of your friends last night and lost your 
rest? . You know you are unaccustomed to this life of 
excitement, and should spare yourself all }^ou can ? ” 

“No, I was not away from home,” she answered. 
As the word home inadvertently slipped from her lips, 
a sharp pain shot through her heart, for she felt that 
she would now never know a home with the man whom 
she had hoped would share it with her, then continued — 

“I have only one intimate friend in New York. We 
live to-gether in the same house, and we are both very 
quiet.” 

As she thought of her lonely life, a mistiness came 
over her eyes and a quiver crept into her voice, but she 
tried hard not to let him see how sad she was. 

After a little awkward pause, he said. “ I am sure 
you are not well, but hope it will not prevent your 
playing up to your standard to-night. You must not 
get ill Miss Corletti. I don’t know what I should do 
if you too had to give up. So do try to take good care 
of yourself.” Then as he saw the star coming off the 
stage, hurriedly said. “ There is Miss Vivian and I 
want to speak to her, but please Miss Corletti do not 
go home to-night till I see you again.” 

Lucia was truly glad when the performance was over, 
and hurried to the dressing-room to change her dress, 
and prepare to go home. 

“ I am sorry you are not feeling well,” said Miss Viv- 
ian to her as she bade her good-night, “ perhaps you have 
taken cold, nurse yourself up, and take some hot herb 
tea when you go to bed,- and you will feel better in the 
morning. 

Lucia thanked her, and after saying “ good-night,” 


“I HAVE LOST A DEAR FRIEND.” 255 

then hurried away to hear what the manager might have 
to say to her. 

He was waiting outside, and quietly, but quickly led 
her through the wings, and down the long narrow pas- 
sage, then out at the stage-door. 

Lucia instantly discovered a carriage drawn up to the 
sidewalk, and hesitated, but Will Carrol opened the 
door and taking her by the arm, said gently, but firmly, 

“ Now Miss Corletti, get in.” 

She had no other alternative than to obey. It was 
all so quickly done : and someway or other, she never 
could disobey this man with the imperious will, but who 
never seemed to command. 

She was immensely surprised when he stepped into 
the coupe and closed the door after him. As he 
dropped into the seat beside her, he said, 

“I hope you have no objection to my going along 
with you, it will save me waiting for the return of the 
carriage. I am quite finished at the theatre and anx- 
ious to get to my hotel to-night.” 

What could she say or do ? She had no objection, but 
in her surprise and confusion only stammered some- 
thing about his being very kind to give her a seat. 
Then a little silence fell upon them, in which she could 
hear the loud thumping of her heart so plainly, that 
she felt he must hear it too, as he sat crowded on the 
narrow seat beside her. 

Presently he remarked, “You are not well this even- 
ing, so I did not think it wise to let you walk home 
alone in the chill night air. It would never do for you 
to take a severe cold and lose your voice, what would 
our play be without your songs ? ” 

She again assured him she had no cold, nor was she 
ill. 


256 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


Then he hesitatingly said, “ I see you are in mourning 
Miss Corletti : I hope you have not lost any of your 
relations ? ” 

“ I have no relatives, of my own — except a grand- 
father in Italy, who may, or may not be living, but I 
have just lost my — my — I mean a very dear friend,” 
she stammered confusedly. 

“ Really ! ” he ejaculated, “ I am sorry for your loss. 
It is sometimes just as hard to lose a dear friend as it is 
to lose a relation. Don’t you think so ? ” 

Lucia was afraid to trust her voice to answer, so re- 
mained silent. For want of something better to say, 
he asked, 

“ Was she ill long? ” 

“ I think not,” answered she. “ But it was a gentle- 
man friend, and I know none of the particulars, only 
the account which I read in the paper.” 

“ That is most unsatisfactorjq but I suppose some of 
your friends will write you the particulars,” he ven- 
tured questioningly. 

“ Yes, oh yes,” she quickly rejoined, “ I had a wire 
to-day from Mrs. Jackson, and she is sending me the 
news by mail. Perhaps you remember her? She was 
the friend of Miss Cushman, who introduced me to her 
at New Orleans the day of the storm, just about a year 
ago.” 

“ Yes, I remember her perfectly, he answered.” She 
brought a gentleman with her to the theatre that 
night ; a Mr. Bruce, and we discovered that we had so 
many mutual friends — he and I. He was from the 
North. Yes I remember her very well, and him too,” 
he musingly added. 

“ He is the friend whom I have just lost,” said Lucia, 


“I HAVE LOST A DEAR FRIEND.” 257 

in a low hushed voice. “ Did you not read the account 
of his sad death in yesterday’s paper ? ” 

“No, I had not time to look at a newspaper yester- 
da} r . My correspondence had gotten woefully behind, 
and I believe I was wicked enough to profane the Sab- 
bath by answering all my letters. But here we are at 
your destination,” he said, looking out the window as 
the carriage came to a full stop. Then springing out 
first gave her his hand ; and as he bade her good-night, 
said, “now try to get well, for you know how neces- 
sary you are to me, and I cannot afford to have you 
ill.” This with a quiet satisfactory little laugh which 
she returned by a faint smile ; then thanking him for 
his kindness, hurried into the house and her room, 
stopping on her way to say good-night to Aline. 

As she wearily prepared herself for bed — and as she 
hoped, for a night’s sleep — she endeavored to put Will 
Carrol and his bewildering remarks far from her, and 
tried hard to rivet her thoughts on him so recently 
gone. But in spite of all her determination her 
thoughts grew strangely mixed and confused, till at last 
she fell into a troubled sleep ; but even then these 
two men, Will Carrol and Robert Bruce, came to her as . 
one ; and she could not define the living from the 
dead. 

When Carrol jumped into his coup&, and threw him- 
self back among its luxurious cushions, he soliloquized 
to himself — “so Bruce is dead. Yes I remember him 
very well, and I also remember that I received the im- 
pression that he was in love with the pretty little 
creole ; and think he was too.” 

“ But why upon earth, did he not marry her, and 
keep her off the stage. I have frequently wondered 
how it comes that she is at the North and alone. Per- 
17 


258 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


haps they had some lover’s quarrel and she came away 
to be rid of him — or to punish him ; women are so 
strange, there is no understanding them. But why did 
she not remain with the friends who had adopted her ? 
for I remember distinctly that Miss Cushman told me 
she was an orphan.” 

“Ah well, I am glad she did not remain at the 
South, or I might not have met her again. So Bruce 
is dead. Poor fellow, he looked strong enough to defy 
death. Well, I have nothing to fear from him , so of 
course cannot feel very sorry he is gone. But dear 
little girl, she must have cared for him, or she would 
not have put on mourning. I wonder if it is grief for 
him that is making her look so ill. I hope not, for I 
don’t like to think another man has possessed her dear 
little heart, or kissed her rosy red lips, even though he 
now be dead. But suppose I must not hope to be the 
first love of the girl I marry, for they all begin so 
early, to toy with the hearts of us poor credulous 
creatures, that it would be difficult for them to tell 
who wa& their first love.” 

“Well, J am in love at last. Yes, I am truly in 
love. Mjr heart is fairly caught, and I remain a willing 
captive to this pretty little Southern girl,” he musingly 
said as he was being whirled along to his comfortable 
rooms at the Union Square Hotel. Then he went on — 

“ I wonder if she cares for me ? the little darling. I 
think she does. At any rate I intend to ask her, and 
very soon too ; ” he told himself, while a happy smile 
play’d about the corners of his fine firm mouth as he 
continued his moralizing, and presently said : 

“ It is quite time for me to marry.. I think I should 
be much happier for the love of this dear little girl. A 
man feels very selfish with only himself to care for 


A GLEAM OF HOPE. 


259 


and think of. Yes I will marry dear little Lucia for I 
am very much in love with her. Next year I shall 
travel with my company, and as I intend to make 
Lucia 4 leading lady ’ it will be more comfortable for 
both of us if she is my wife.” 

He had just arranged this plan satisfactorily in his 
mind, when the coup5 deposited him in front of the 
hotel, and with the smile of happy contentment still 
lingering on his face, he passed into the bright corri- 
dors and up to his own rooms, in a dreamy, pre-oc- 
cupied manner ; thinking of Lucia and his newly 
awakened love. 


CHAPTER XYI. 

A GLEAM OF HOPE. 

April and May slipped by so fast, that Lucia in 
looking back, wondered how it was that days could 
succeed each other so rapidly, when the memory of 
sucli a dire tragedy was still so fresh with her. Since 
the death of Robert Bruce she had been more settled 
in her mind, and was happier than she thought it pos- 
sible to be under the circumstances. She had thrown 
her whole heart, and soul, into the profession she had 
chosen, and in which she was such a success, and al- 
lowed herself very little time for sad retrospections. 
The painful uncertainty which had surrounded her 
future with Robert Bruce had been decided by the 
inevitable, and she felt a pleasurable sense of independ- 
ence pervading all her actions that she had never 
known before. 

The death of Bruce was not the only sorrow she had 


260 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


to bear that season, for speedily coming upon that sad 
event, was the news wired to her of Doctor Orlando’s 
death. That, had been a severe blow to the already 
sorely tried girl, who had loved her foster-parents very 
dearly, and felt that her kind old god-rnother must be 
very lonely since her husband was taken from her, and 
was harrassed by the thought that it was now her duty 
to return, and do all in her power to comfort and make 
her life less lonely. But how could she renounce the 
profession of which she had grown so fond? 

The news of the good old Doctor’s death brought no 
sorrow to Lucia’s fair neighbor. On the contrary, she 
saw by it a way out of her shame and misery, and a 
road to tho home and name of the man she loved, and 
was so loyal to, and whose only excuse for not marry- 
ing her, had been the positive objection of his father, 
whose besetting sin (in Aline’s eyes) was his pride of 
birth and name. Frank Orlando had lacked moral 
courage to defy that prejudice, and make some atone- 
ment to the woman who had yielded him so much, and 
who (he discovered when it was too late) was so pre- 
cious to him. His mother might protest at his giving 
her a daughter-in-law with a great black mark under 
her name, but he felt sure her objections would not 
hold out long, against the pleadings and wishes of her 
favorite son. 

Aline fully realized that no human happiijess is com- 
plete, and that the cup of pleasure always hides a drop 
of bitterness in the dregs. ’Tis the surface alone that 
holds the cream of pleasure. Were one content to 
quaff of this only, and stop before the bitter is reached, 
the happiness might be complete. But poor greedy 
humanity desires the entire contents, draining the tank- 


A GLEAM OF HOPE. 26l 

ard to the very dregs, so must be satisfied to take the 
bitter with the sweet. 

The drop of gall pervading Aline’s cup of happiness, 
was the sense of shame, and regret, she felt for the base 
thoughts of revenge she had vowed to heap upon the 
girl who had proved herself so kind a friend to her, 
during the illness of her child, and whom she had 
learned to love for her own grand qualities. Ah, how 
hard she had tried to drown that love in the black sea 
of revenge? And there was another drop — aye, even 
the drop she had poured there herself, when she came 
so far away from the one man she loved above all else, 
putting it out of his power to come to her, and re- 
ceive the consolation he would so surely need, after the 
haughty scorn of Lucia’s burning rejection. Aline 
censured herself that she did not understand him bet- 
ter, and know that his fidelity and love must surely re- 
turn to her some day. Aye, and it did come too, sooner 
than even she had expected. 

The knowledge that Frank Orlando was not married 
to Lucia, and the possibility of being taken into his 
life again and made his wife — now that the barrier of 
family pride was broken down by the Doctor’s death — 
made her more supremely happy than she had ever been 
in all her life before, even the day when he first sealed 
her for his own with such fair promises ; then she was 
thoughtless, and cared nought for the future, for she 
had only herself to think of. But now — now there was 
their child, their little Frank with his whole life before 
him ; that life for which they were responsible, and as 
far as in their power lay, their duty to wipe out 
stains, by which his birth was sullied through their self- 
ish, reckless love. 

And now she was perfectly happy in the knowledge , 


262 


A BLONDE CKEOLE. 


that Frank was coming North. Coming North to see 
Lucia concerning the will of Robert Bruce, whereby she 
(Lucia) was made a rich woman, since he had left her 
his entire fortune. Only stipulating a certain amount 
for the maintainance of his deranged wife during her 
life, and at her death the whole to revert to Lucia, re- 
serving a small legacy to Mrs. Clifford the sister who 
had cared for the unfortunate woman during her ill- 
ness. 

Yes, Frank was coming to New York. Would be 
there in two days and then she should see him again, 
hear his dear voice once more. True, he was coming 
to see another, that other for whom she entertained no 
jealous thoughts now — fool that she had been ever to 
be jealous of the girl who had no love for her idol. 
But she was hoping for so much from his coming. A 
secret intuition — or some other latent power answering 
the purpose — told her this meeting would be a perfect 
one ; one in which all the sorrows of the past would be 
buried so deep, that' they never again would see the 
light of day. 

As the hours dragged their tardy minutes into days, 
Aline became very nervous and unsettled, and could 
scarcely command herself. She frequently found un- 
bidden tears welling up to her eyes, covering all things 
iu a mist. 

The great force of character, and noble bravery that 
had upheld her in the deep sea of trouble through 
which she had passed, bid fair to desert her now in this 
exquisite moment of long looked for joy. 

Even this happiness was tempered by the possibility 
of the disappointment, Frank might evince on discover- 
ing her in the same house with his foster-sister. But 
surely his scruples would be all removed when he saw 


JOY AFTER SORROW. 


263 


how intimate they had become — these two women who 
had controlled such important events in his life — and 
what warm friends they were. 

Aline had made Lucia promise not to tell Frank of her 
whereabouts, preferring to leave all to the chances of a 
surprise in the first meeting. 

She frequently wondered to herself if he would think 
her altered, if he would object to her life on the stage, 
if he would find their little boy changed — their little 
Frank, his namesake, who in his baby lisp called him- 
self “ Ancie.” All these thoughts filled her mind, even 
to wondering if she should still wear black now that 
he was coming — that coming from which she hoped 
so much. Yes, she would continue the mourning out 
of respect to his father. How the hours dragged? 
How long the time from sunrise to sunset ? And yet 
the days passed. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

JOY AFTER SORROW. 

The long wished for Monday morning dawned clear 
and bright, and with a glad peari of praise for this good 
omen, Aline went about her duties ’twixt fear and joy. 
Joy, that a few hours more and she should see once 
again, the dear face she loved so well, and fear, lest the 
happiness might not be mutual. 

It seemed that her heart must stand still with its in- 
tense emotions when Lucia — after having been closeted 
in her room with Frank Orlando for an hour — opened 
the door and asked for little Ancie. She led him up to 
Frank, who was still waiting in her room for the “ de- 


264 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


lightful surprise ” she had promised him, and thought 
he had misunderstood her, when she returned leading 
by the hand a pretty little boy. He spoke kindly to 
the little fellow, and asked him his name. 

“ Ancie,” answered the child. 

41 Ancie ? ” repeated he, questioningly. 

Then Lucia said, 44 His name, too, is Frank, only he 
cannot pronounce it.” As she saw the father gazing 
into the dark eyes of the boy, as if trying to recall 
some lost memory, she asked : 

44 Frank, is it possible you do not know him ? Does 
he not look like some one very near to your heart ? ” 

Not daring to trust his voice, he only raised his eyes 
with a wistful, pleading look in their dark depths, re- 
vealing to her the desire of his soul, for she simply an- 
swered : 

44 Yes, Frank.” 

44 In Heaven’s name where did you find him ? ” he 
asked in amazement, and starting from his chair — 44 His 
mother — Aline. Where is she? Lucia, if you know, 
take me to her. If she lives I must see her,” he said, 
excitedly. 

44 Calm yourself,” she replied, laying her hand on his 
arm, her own heart beating almost as wildly as his, at 
the great joy she was about to give to these two. 
44 Aline is near. I will take you to her if you are 
ready.” 

44 Ready ? ” he laughed bitterly. 44 1 have been ready 
for the past year.” 

44 Then make me a promise before you see her.” 

44 Yes, I promise, but don’t keep me long in suspense, 
little sister.” 

“ Well, then, will you promise to marry Aline as soon 
as you possibly can ? ” 


WELCOME FOOTSTEPS. 


265 


“ I will , so help me God — that is — if she will have me.” 

Then giving the child a toy to amuse him till her re- 
turn, she led Frank into the hall, and after a gentle tap 
on Aline’s door opened it and said, 

“ Aline, I have brought you a great joy. May your 
future be brighter than your past.” 

As the door closed on Lucia, Frank stood for one 
moment as marble. Then, without a word, stretched 
forth his arms entreatingly to the woman he had so 
wronged, yet loved so dearly all through the long sep- 
aration, even in spite of himself. 

With one low glad cry of purest rapture, Aline 
sprang forward, and was immediately folded in his em- 
brace, while his lips pressed hers in glad, greedy kisses. 

She presently lifted up her face to the man who had 
brought her this exquisite joy, fearing to read on his, 
reproach, but she saw only tears of loving sympathy in 
his eyes, as he joyfully leaned down and kissed her 
again. She closed her own, uttering a silent prayer of 
thanksgiving, for all the love and joy, that had returned 
to her stricken heart at last. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

WELCOME FOOT STEPS. 

Yes, April and May had slipped rapidly by, bringing 
happy leafy June in their train. The parks and 
squares were looking their gayest in garb of brilliantly 
colored flowers, and the stillness of the warm early 
summer evening had lured Lucia out for an idle walk. 
On her way home she passed through Madison Square, 
and in a listless dreamy vein took a seat on one of the 


266 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


iron benches, to breathe in the soft fragrant air, and 
watch the young moon sailing so serenely, in the per- 
fect blue ether of the heavens. 

How long she sat there that blessed calm Sabbath 
evening she did not know. It was such a pleasure to 
spend an evening in the open air, for since her advent 
on the stage, her evenings — except the Sundays — had 
been passed in a crowded, heated house, behind the 
glare of gas jets. But now that summer was come, she 
could not remain contentedly in-doors, while the flowers 
were blooming, and the birds singing such a joyous invi- 
tation to her. So she spent all her spare time in the 
parks, trying to imagine herself at home again in her 
flowery South, where the whole country is one grandly 
blooming garden. 

Almost unconsciously her thoughts wandered to her 
profession and Will Carrol. 

It was very near the close of the season, and all the 
company but herself had settled where they would go, 
and how they would occupy themselves during the 
coming recess. She wondered where Will Carrol would 
spend his vacation, and if he would think of her some- 
times, as she was sure to do of him. 

And while such thoughts were in her heart, there 
came through the peaceful fragrant stillness, the sound 
of a familiar footfall on the graveled path, and a voice 
she knew so well greeted her by name. She turned 
her head, the tell-tale blush on her face, while her eyes 
grew bright with glad surprise at this meeting. 

If the face is an index to the feelings, then Will Car- 
rol too, must have been very happy, for his face fairly 
beamed with pleasure at this unexpected meeting. All 
unbidden he seated himself on the iron bench beside 
her and said : 


WELCOME FOOTSTEPS. 


267 


“ I am in luck this evening, for I was on my way to 
see you, and am particularly glad to meet you out here 
among the sleepy flowers, with only pale Luna to keep 
guard.” 

“ Indeed ! to see me,” she exclaimed. “ It is a mat- 
ter of business I suppose ? ” 

“Yes, a matter of most vital importance tome” he 
replied. 

That it concerned him and the stage, she did not for 
a moment doubt, but how a matter of vital importance 
to him could concern her, she did not understand, es- 
pecially as she had already signed the contract to re- 
main with the company another season. But said : 

“I hope Mr. Carrol you are not having any trouble, 
your face does not reflect it, if you are, but if there is 
any difficulty in which I can be of assistance, I beg you 
to command me, and I will do all in my power to help 
you.” 

“ You promise earnestly to help me all you can Miss 
Corletti ? Well, I am very desirious of making a cer- 
tain little lady my wife. Will you help me to gratify 
that desire, help me to gain this little hand ?” And be- 
fore she could speak, in her immeasurable surprise at the 
suddenness of his proposal, he closed his fingers over 
her hand, and looking into her face said : 

“ Lucia, I love you very dearly, and have loved you 
a long time ; will you be my wife? Shall we go hand 
in hand through life together, sharing alike the ills, as 
well as the joys, which the future may have in store for 
us? ” 

He was gazing expectantly, eagerly into her face, 
awaiting the words on which his very life seemed to 
hang. But she answered him never a sound, only 
averted her head, and struggled with some deep emo- 


268 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


tion, and through it all there was a pervading sense of 
shame and misery — the sense of having lost something 
beyond price. 

Still she did not answer, and on her profile turned to 
him, he could see the blood slowly receding from her 
face, leaving it deadly white. His breath came in 
spasmodic gasps, while he whispered in a voice so un- 
like his own — 

“ Just Heaven! have I been mistaken? You do not 
mean that you cannot love me? You do not wish 
me to understand that you will not marry me ? Oh 
Lucia, that would break my heart, for I love you so 
dearly. Answer me, darling, and say that you will try 
to love me. Perhaps I have been too precipitate — have 
surprised you too suddenly.” 

“ No, no, T tis not that,” she at last found breath to 
say, “but there is something you must know first.” 

At the confession she was now forced to make, the 
blood all surged back to her face in a flood of shame, 
and she put up her two hands to hide it. 

“ Lucia,” he whispered, bending nearer, “ don’t tell 
me that you are already engaged. Don’t tell me that 
the love I so much covet belongs to another. I don’t 
think I could stand it, for I have always looked upon 
you as free, and hoped so much to win you for my own.” 

“ No, I am not engaged,” she said in a voice that 
had grown unnaturally calm in these few minutes. 

“ Thank God for that one ray of comfort any way,” 
he answered, seizing her two hands as they laid tightly 
clasped in her lap. 

And then, as the stars crept, one by one, into the sum- 
mer night’s sky, Lucia told him of the mistake of her 
life. Opened up to his reading, all the turned down 
pages that marked her sad past, concealing nothing; 


AN IMPORTANT LETTER. 269 

she made a full and free confession to the man she 
already loved with the whole strength of her noble lov- 
ing nature, and who loved her with an ardor equal to 
her own. Long before the pitiable story was all told, 
his arm had stolen around her waist, and he murmured, 
“ My darling little Lucia, my poor little love, what an 
unhappy past you have had, but now, God being my 
helper, together we will bury that past, and you shall 
only know peace and joy henceforth, as long as you 
live.” 

And so that sweet, quiet Sunday evening in flowery 
June, passed away from earth and her children : but 
the memory of it, ever lived as green and fragrant in 
their hearts, as the flowers which bloomed around them 
that happy night. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

AN IMPORTANT LETTER. 

When Lucia had been Mrs. Carrol about a year, her 
husband came into her dainty little boudoir one morn- 
ing, holding in his hand an open letter, while a bright 
smile lingered around his lips, through which the white 
teeth gleamed, as he said, 

“ Well, little wife, I did not know I was marrying a 
lady of title, but its seems that I have, by this letter.” 

“ Why, what do you mean, Will ? ” she quickly 
asked, dropping the flowers she was arranging. 

“ This letter,” he said, deliberately opening its folds, 
« which I have just received from Frank Orlando, tells 
me that your grandfather in Italy, Count Martini, is 
dead, and that you are heir to' all he was worth, includ- 


270 


A BLONDE CREOLE. 


ing a palace at Naples, and I now learn, for the first 
time, that you have been a Countess all the while.” 

44 Indeed,” exclaimed Lucia, opening her wonderful 
eyes to their greatest capacity. “ Poor grandpapa ! 
When did he die ? ” 

44 Some months ago, Countess,” (with a mock rever- 
ence) 44 but no one knew where to find you, it seems, 
till by some chance, a Signor Salvatori, who was once 
Italian Consul at New Orleans, remembered that he had 
met your parents at the house of Doctor Orlando many 
years ago, and hoping that he (the Doctor) might still 
know something of the whereabouts of your parents, 
the lawyer has written to him. Of course the letter 
was opened by your god-mother, who had Frank write 
and enclose it to me. The lawyer did not know that 
your own mother was dead, and as you are the only 
grandchild — naturally — you are the sole heir.” 

Referring again to the letter, he said, 

44 Frank also writes that their little girl is a sweet 
child, and Aline has decided to name her after you, 
and that his mother thinks there never was such an- 
other child born as little Lucia.” 

44 How kind of Aline to name her first girl after me,” 
musingly said she, her mind divided between the two 
interesting points of Frank’s letter. 

Breaking in upon her abstraction, Carrol laughingly 
said, with a mock reverence, 

44 As it is so near the end of the season, Countess, 
suppose we spend our vacation in Naples, and see your 
possessions there.” 

44 Agreed, Will, and let us invite my old friends, the 
Jacksons, to go with us.” 


[end of books.] 


* 















V, 










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